When Winter Comes
by Sue Meriah
Summary: It is time to grow from a pawn into a player in the Game of Thrones: Sansa never married Ramsay, she stayed in the Vale. The Blackfish sought help from the Vale to retake Riverrun, and she was in the middle of it all. Jon is proclaimed King after retaking Winterfell with the northern lords and Sansa's army. And now the Dragonqueen is coming and Willas Tyrell searches new alliances.
1. Sansa I

**Welcome to my fanfic!**

 **This is a mixture of the books and series, as far as minor key scenes, characters and personalities goes.**

 **So, in this, Sansa stayed in The Vale. Her uncle, the blackfish, came to The Gates of the Moon to seek help to retake Riverrun from the Lannisters and the Freys. Petyr revealed Sansa Stark and agreed to help if Edmure named Sansa as his heir to Riverrun, until Edmure's daughter comes of an age to marry Sweetrobin. He also persuaded the knights of the Vale to help in return for Sansa's hand to Harry the Heir if Robert would not survive that age.**

 **Jamie returns to King's Landing after retreating from Riverrun, not going back on his word to protect Sansa.**

 **While the Riverrun and Vale army fight for the castles between Riverrun and the Twins, Sansa travels with Myranda Royce and Littlefinger to Moat Caillin in order to recruit other houses to their call.  
This is where she meets Jon again. After everyone regroups at Moat Caillin and feast over taking the Twins, Sansa gets _ordered_ by Ramsay to marry him in exchange for Rickon's life, Prompting Jon and Sansa to travel to the Wall, recruiting Northern houses on their way.**

 **The Wildlings agree to help too, in exchange for a place to live near Riverrun when Spring comes.**

 **Ramsay, while waiting for his 'bride', got a surprise attack from North and South. Harry the Heir dies in battle.**

 **Jon Snow is proclaimed King in the North and prepares the North for war against the White Walkers.**

 **Back in King's Landing, Cersei blows up the sept. Willas Tyrell, the only heir to Highgarden left, declares war on the Crown.**

 **Winter is coming and it is time for new alliances, schemes and friendships to grow, and perhaps in the cold of it all some love can blossom.**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 _ **To the lady Sansa of house Stark,**_

 _It is a great pleasure to have received word of the survival of your person and the relative good state of your health. I congratulate you with all my heart for your reunion with his grace Jon Snow along with taking back your rightful home of Winterfell. I pray to the seven every day for the continuation of a peaceful and content state of the entirety of the North, as well as for good health and fortune and a soon reunion, within your family and mine._

 _By now I am sure my lady has heard of the terrible fate that has befallen on my family at the hands of the traitor, murderer and usurper Cersei Lannister.  
I declare war on Cersei Lannister because of this. I have sent letters to the remaining true honourable houses in Westeros, to form alliances throughout the seven kingdoms and cast the traitor Cersei Lannister from the Iron Throne. I will sentence her and her traitor brother, and Ser Jamie Lannister, to die.  
To my honor as a Tyrell, I vow before the gods to personally send every man or woman that has hurt my house and loved ones to the Stranger himself. May justice fall upon them._

 _It is why I humbly offer an alliance of the remainder of House Tyrell to your house and family._

 _The Tyrell forces are 70.000 strong and with the blessed summer we had, the provisions for my and your army will be well-provided, as well as support in the form of golden lions and silver stags._

 _With the death of my father, the laws of all the gods require me to ascent the position as Lord Willas of House Tyrell, Lord of the Reach and Warden of the South._

 _This time, House Tyrell asks no ties between our houses by marriage, rather, the full support of all men seeking to bring justice to Kings Landing and those who would, aside from numerous crimes, to destroy a holy Sept in the Capital, thereby ending the life of hundreds of innocent people. I trust that the old gods and the new would never forgive one with such low regard for all things sacred._

 _I sent my grandmother to form an alliance between House Tyrell and the Sand Snakes of Dorne. I have not heard from her in a time, but worry not, my Lady. The Sand Snakes and myself have the love for Oberyn and a resentment towards the Lannisters in common. We might attempt to seek an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen, the dragon queen, as of yet residing as ruling Queen in Mereen, but soon setting sail to take the throne. My informants assured me that her forces are unlike anything we could imagine. I beg of you to consider settling an agreement to both our favours, as do I._

 _Even though I will not be able to come to Winterfell myself, I hope our correspondence this way would not cause too much inconvenience. Over the next fortnight, a total of 150 men will be sent from the reach as new recruits for the wall. Please accept the fifteen carts of wheat, twenty heads of cattle and fourteen crates of lemons and sugar brought with these recruits. Also, I gift you two white horses, bred by one of my best fillies two years ago. They are of the finest breed in Westeros, I assure you. I beg you to accept this as a small token of my good faith._

 _My only wish is for you to forgive my house for not providing house Stark with the aid at their time of need._

 _I hope to receive a letter by raven or messenger at the earliest convenience of your ladyship._

 _ **Lord Willas Tyrell, Warden of the South.**_

 _o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

 _ **To the lord Willas of House Tyrell,**_

 _I thank you for your kind words regarding my House and your condolences for my losses. As do I offer my deepest sympathy to you, for the death of the Lady Margaery, a woman of grace and kindness that I considered a dear friend for the time I knew her. As too for your brother Loras, a kind, charming and courteous man that gave me hope for the existence of valiant and brave knights back when I doubted them most. I rarely have had the pleasure of spending time with your lord father, although I do remember how his singing voice casted a less foul shadow over the dining hall in the Keep. I won't ever forget the kindness your family showed at my darkest hours in King's Landing, nor would I betray this kindness that was shown to me when none was required._

 _Besides all that have happened between myself and your family, I do not bear ill will towards you or House Tyrell. Were it not for our common enemy, both our families would be alive and well, and the gods might have had a better fate for us and our families._

 _Alas, now is not the time to dwell on that, for more important matters are at hand._

 _I have told my brother, the king in the North, a summary of your letter. You might receive word from him in due time. As you know, I do not have much authority over the North in it's whole or my brother in regards to his kingdom, but he well listens to my advice. I have advised him in seeking an alliance with you and he seemed quite favorable to that._

 _The men and provisions you sent as a token have arrived here in good health. I thank you for these provisions. Especially the lemons and sugar will make of treats that, I pray, will put hopeful smiles upon the faces of the children of Winterf-_

 _o=o=o=o=o=_

A soft, insistent knock on the door shocked Sansa out of her concentrated state. She dropped the quill she was holding on the table, the ink on the tip dripping on the parchment as it fell. She straightened herself in her chair and nodded at Brienne, who was holding guard at her door.

The large woman opened the door and closed it as she stepped through it. Sansa could see a flash of a silver mockingbird pin right before the door closed. She sighed. That could only be one man waiting outside.

'Lord Petyr Baelish, my lady,' Brienne announced when she stepped back in. Littlefinger was smirking at Sansa from behind her. Sansa noticed the female knight could barely contain the resentment in her tone. She stepped aside nonetheless, when Sansa replied.  
'Thank you, Brienne,' she said with a smile in her direction, while keeping her eyes on the man stepping lightly to her table.  
Sansa tried her best to look like a proper Lady of Winterfell as she looked up at him with icy blue eyes. Petyr smirked at her, twitching his moustache as he bowed deeply. Before Sansa could do anything, Petyr already had a hold of her hand and placed a soft, minty-smelling kiss on her skin.  
'My lady,' his low voice raspy as he slowly straightened himself. 'You look radiant today. I hope your day has fared well?'

Sansa pulled her hand back, gracing the Lord Protector of the Vale with half a smile.

'My lord Baelish. My day has fared well, I thank you. To what do I owe this pleasure?'

In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Brienne huffing. One glance at her told her how much the knight wanted to pierce her Valyrian steel sword into his back: her right hand rested on the pommel of her sword, her eyes almost piercing through Littlefinger's skull.

'My lady, I came to inform you personally of my departure on the morrow. I am to accompany with a few of my best knights back to the Vale. Lord Robert needs my guidance for his travels to the Gates of the Moon.'  
Littlefinger paused, probably to view Sansa's reaction. She tried her best to give him as neutral of an expression as she could manage. Petyr raised an eyebrow, almost in a joking manner. 'Lord Robert requested I take three hundred man back with me, to protect him in his new home for the winter.'

'I see,' Sansa said. 'Three hundred seems like a reasonable amount to spare, I reckon. Please give my cousin my well wishes and thanks for his assistance, providing his kin with his army.'  
She turned to one of her handmaids standing in the corner.  
'Alyssa, would you please bring me The Falcon And The Forest from the top shelve of my book cabinet?'  
The young girl curtsied and obliged.  
'It is a book,' Sansa explained. 'Filled with songs and stories about the Winged Knight and his wife, one of the children of the forest. I also gift him Duncan, the white horse. Born and bred in the South, it is of the finest breed in Westeros, I assure you. Lord Arryn will be well pleased.'  
Petyr nodded, something akin to humor lightning up in his pupils.  
'My lady is most kind,' he replied, taking the book from the handmaidens' hand.  
'I shall give Lord Robert my best from you and his grace Jon. I have not seen him yet today,' he said with feigned wonder.  
'A shame,' he said. 'I do hope to talk to His Grace before my departure. It would be an honor providing my Lord Arryn with a message from his King. I am sure my Lord would want to hear of the affairs here.'  
 _He is testing me,_ Sansa thought. _To see if I will keep the Vale as my own allies, or let Jon take over the personal ties with this army._  
'Worry not, Lord Baelish. King Jon is visiting Winter's Town with Lord Davos and a few other of his men to check on the provisions for the winter. He has told me he will hold court when he returns later this afternoon, to discuss the defense for the North.'  
She stood up and motioned a page from the corner to come closer. 'You are welcome to join as well, of course, my lord.'  
She smiled at Petyr and turned her attention to her page, a brown haired lad with large grey eyes and lanky body, not much older than Bran when she last saw him. 'You… Brickon,' she said, almost forgetting the young man's name.  
'See to it that Duncan will be added to the horses accompanying lord Baelish to the Vale. He is my personal gift to Lord Arryn.'  
'Yes mylady.' The boy said. He bowed quickly before Sansa and Littlefinger before he shot out the door. Sansa clasped her hands together and lifted her chin gracefully.  
She was good at pretending to be a courteous, intelligent lady, but before the former Master of Coin, the whoremonger of Kings Landing, she felt like that thirteen year old girl again. Getting nervous of the invasive way Petyr stood before her, touched her sometimes, when they were alone. Here, in the company of others, he restrained himself, saying all his polite courtsies with a twinge of mocking in it, audible for Sansa now after spending so much time with him.  
As Petyr retreated to the door, it looked as if he had one more thing to say, but stayed quiet and waited for her. The mint in his breath was still in the air.  
'If that was all, Lord Baelish,' she inquiered, while silently breathing in. 'I will see you at the council meeting when my brother returns.'  
She looked at Brienne, signaling her to open the door for him. Petyr stood still for two heartbeats longer before he bowed again and left.  
'Mylady.' He greeted, before Brienne closed the door behind him.

Sansa breathed out some air she didn't know she was holding. She and Brienne listened to Petyr's steps fading away down the hall, a few moments of silence between the people in the room. As if her handmaiden knew what was expected of her, she spoke up.  
'Would mylady like something to eat before the meeting this afternoon?' she asked timidly.

'A plate of cheese and lemon cakes, please,' Sansa said. 'Notify the cooks of the batch of lemons and sugar that arrived this morning. I would also like a bath in two hours, but not in here. Call when it is ready.'  
The handmaiden uttered a few words with her curtsy and fled the room. When Sansa and Brienne were alone, she sighed deeply and placed herself back on her chair.  
It was a comfortable one, of fine woodwork and grey furs. It belonged in the room of their father once, which was Jon's room now.  
She assumed from the beginning that Jon used the chair without thinking about it, but a fortnight ago, she returned to her room after a day of attending household-duties. She stumbled upon Jon. on his own, lifting the heavy chair to _her_ desk while huffing and puffing. He explained that sleeping in his father's room was a worse enough thing, but sitting in his work chair- he could not bring himself to do that. It belonged to the Lord Stark, and only his true born children deserved to inherit that chair.  
She could not convince him otherwise, no matter how Sansa pushed.  
Such a small token of his respect towards the family, Sansa mused. He is officially the head of all the north and the Starks, yet he still feels like he doesn't truly deserve that honor. Or to be here at all, really.  
Refusing to sit on something trivial like a simple chair. Her half-brother was a king, but mayhaps he still felt like a bastard of the family.

Sansa absent-mindedly ran her fingers through the soft fur of her seat and shifted her thoughts back to her female companion, who stayed quiet while waiting for Sansa to say something first. She liked that about the woman. She didn't mind that her thoughts were somewhere else sometimes. Brienne stayed the silent guard in the corner, and one she could trust, too.

'How many days would it take to get from here to the Vale, Brienne?' she asked.  
'A little over three weeks, mylady. Perhaps more if the snows are falling.' Brienne answered.

'I see,' Sansa said, not further explaining why she asked. She took a deep breath and looked over at the pile of papers and sealed letters on her table.  
'I will be in here writing my letters. With Lord Baelish leaving, I would like to have a messenger accompanying him, delivering my letters to Myranda Royce and my cousin Robert. He will also travel to Riverrun to give my uncle Edmure my good wishes, and to send a letter there to the Reach by raven.' She paused, glancing at the pile of important letters.  
'I will trust you with choosing a messenger up for this task. The letters are confidential and the contents of these letters will not be read by anyone but the recipients. That is very important.'  
Sansa looked up at the large female knight and smiled politely. 'Please send him to me once you find the right person for a journey south.'  
The woman nodded and bowed her head. 'Certainly, mylady,' she said before she excused herself and then too, left the room.

Sansa was all alone in her chambers now, the ones that once belonged to her lady mother Catelyn. It was the warmest room in the castle, because of the hot water from the springs underneath the castle running through the walls. She remembered being a young girl, getting scared of the stories old Nan told, about the ice dragons under Winterfell, waiting to be revived. It was one of the stories that made Sansa, the young, naïve Sansa, be all the more hopeful of the courteous prince of her dreams to get her out of the snowy castle with dragons lurking underneath.  
Little did she know a lion's den in the middle of the capitol was a far worse fate than she could have had imagined for her future. And yet again here she was, save in her own home, like when she was young. But no more gold-headed princes to speak of. First Joffrey, who deserved everything he got. And then the poor prince Tommen, the sweet, innocent lad that just wanted to play with kittens, jumped through the window to his death. Cersei, the evil lioness, crowned herself queen that next day.

The army of the death, marching to the wall, getting closer to Winterfell by each passing day. And now a dragon queen in the East as well, together with what looked like a good portion of the remaining kingdoms of Westeros behind her. The Iron Isles, Dorne, and now the Tyrells too, awaiting the Targaryen queen from the East.

She thought of Willas Tyrell and her letter to him. Looking back at it, maybe she was being to open and polite with him. The Tyrells did once belong to the Lannisters after all, at some point. Cersei's stupid mistake was trying to fight her allies instead of her enemies.  
Now both the Starks and the Tyrells will be the houses to release Westeros out of her sharp claws. She wanted to laugh, but instead she picked up her quill, dipped it in ink and resumed her letter to the lord Tyrell.

After a few more moments of reconsideration, she decided to leave the letter as it was, and continued- warning Lord Tyrell of the dangers in the North and trying to give him a forewarning of the threat that lures beyond the Wall, as well as hinting at some precautions that must be in order before too long. Lastly, she added a dried up winter rose to the letter. She described it as a proof that the letter came from the North.  
One would call it a sign of courtship if they did not know better, but some harmless flirting might not be too bad after all. If she had any hope of manipulating anyone into doing anything, she would sometimes have to take some risks, at higher stakes, too. Sansa then wrote a letter to Myranda Royce, not of much importance but to hold up her friendships within the Vale. It was a trick she remembered from Littlefinger himself. If Myranda married again, to a Lord with a good army, she could use her goodwill and influence as her friend to request for help as soon as it was proper.

But she would have to keep contact with her, as well as Lord Arryn. The letter to her cousin was a long one, she told him of the great 'Battle of the Bastards' as the common folk now called it. In great detail, much like the way she would tell the stories of the Winged Knight. She also doted on her cousin, writing how strong and brave he is and telling him of the gifts he is getting from her. She was so busy writing that she hardly noticed the handmaiden entering her chambers and placing the plate of food and wine on the table, then leaving her again.

Sansa's last letter was to Petyr himself, officially thanking him for his diplomatic assistance in bringing Jon and the wildlings, the knights of the Vale and the remainder of the Tully forces together to defeat the Boltons and chase them from their ancestral home.

Alyssa, her mousy handmaiden called her to the other room for her bath. While she stept into her tub, she thought of the battle that Jon won for her, but Petyr mostly planned. Baelish did it all with Sansa herself in the middle, that much was very clear. Her Tully looks and heritage providing for the Tully army and her good care of little lord Robin for the Vale army, yet it was Jon Snow who got the title of King. Sansa wasn't a fool, Littlefinger did it all to make _her_ queen in the North, but it seemed the Northmen respected visible strength and bravery of a bastard man with the Stark blood in his veins, over the diplomatic skills of a pureblood Stark woman that provided for the largest part of the army to begin with.

 _The irony_ , Sansa thought as she washed herself. T .She remembered the dark look in Petyrs eyes as the lords and knights were cheering for her half brother, the night Jon was declared king.  
Petyr came from nothing and needed pieces and pawns to play in the game, such as Sansa, the highborn, noble birthed lady he could never get, like her lady mother- only to have his plans demolished by another man that came from nothing. A bastard on the Wall once, then Lord Commander, and now King in the North. How frustrating it must be for Littlefinger, with his little schemes and plots.

Sansa got out of the tub and prepared herself for dinner. The small council meeting would begin halfway through so she tried to look her best, like a queen of the North, in all but name.  
The most ironic part of it all is that Jon never even _wanted_ to be King.  
War and new alliances coming from all sides. All this new power over the North and Winterfell that Jon never wanted nor asked for, reserved for her whenever she wanted.  
She could be like Littlefinger. Whispering in his ear, taking control over everything behind his back, and Jon would probably not even mind. Jon would be perfectly content if he was just a Lord Commander, doing his best to keep everyone safe from the White Walkers and the other enemies, all to protect her, his family. She could guide him in any direction she wanted. She could make him give her as much power and control as she wanted.

 _But did she want it?_

Another knock on the door stopped her musings. She quickly closed the box with letters, locking it from the inside, and in one motion, hiding it behind the tapestry on the wall next to her. 'Come in!' she called out.  
It was Jon, his dark eyes peering into the room, his black curls in a slick tail to the back of his head. He was clad and handsome in his simple boiled leathers and furs. He did not look like a king, not even like a lord, aside from the huge cloak that she made for him back at Castle Black. He was always wearing it when he talked with Sansa. She still wasn't sure he thought he _had_ to wear it, or because he really wanted too. Jon was good-hearted like that.

'Jon!' Sansa called out to him pleasantly. 'Come in, please, have some wine.' Jon looked around as if he was searching for someone else to give him permission to enter as he greeted her. 'Brienne is not here?' he asked while he closed the door behind him.  
'She is taking care of some of my affairs. It is good to see you back this soon. I trust everything is well in Winter Town?'

Jon sat down in a seat in front of her and looked at her with tired eyes. 'The rations are thin. I'm afraid there isn't much hope of all of them making it through winter like this.'  
He looked down at his gloved hands and sighed. 'The most of the villages surrounding this castle consists of women, children and the elderly. Some lords warn me that they will not survive the winter anyhow. And I don't even know how we are supposed to man the army to fight the White Walkers when the time comes. We might not even have the man, nor the weapons.'  
Sansa saw her half brother pulling that face again, one brooding and scowling. He looked just like her father sometimes.

Sansa leaned over to him and placed a soft hand on Jon's calloused fingers. 'You don't have to fear for everything that requires help from _outside_ our own resources, Jon.'  
She waited until Jon dragged his glance from the floor to her face. Smiling inwardly at his courage to show fear in front of her, she reached behind the tapestry and handed Jon the sealed letter to Willas Tyrell.  
'If there is anything I've learned about Willas Tyrell, is that he loves the elderly and the children and upholding a good reputation. He has the gold, the provisions and the right location in the south that give the weaker a fighting chance. We have the power and the army that he seeks for his own ambitions. An alliance is only logical.'  
She paused, giving Jon's hand a squeeze. 'The Tyrells and Starks can help each other, this time. When it really matters. So leave our ties and reputation to me. Let _me_ handle _some_ of the burdens, your Grace.'

'Don't call me that.' Jon immediately responded, frowning. Sansa chuckled. Jon's eyes smiled as he folded his leather gloves.  
'I do trust you, Sansa. Everything I do is to protect you and our home. So I need you to be careful as well.' He nodded at the letter.  
'You are writing that Lord Tyrell then? Do you really think we could trust him?'  
'You are the king, Jon. It will be you who decides in the end. _But listen_ : His men and gold could very well be the thing that will save the north from total destruction if the battle with the White Walkers begin. And even if we win that, there is still the long night to survive, too.'  
She looked at the direwolf stamp on the parchment, tracing the outlines with her fingers and hearing the winter rose scratching against the paper from within.

'I am testing him in this letter. Willas Tyrell seems to be after my good graces. If he is mendable, he will offer more help as tokens of good faith until I _have_ to offer something in return. In the meantime, you could write to him that you are considering an alliance, playing the fool, asking him what he wants in return, while I give him hints on how to help us, without it being a part of any preconditions to the alliance itself.'  
To her pleasure, Sansa watched as her brother looked at her with big brown eyes, captivated by her latest little scheme. Jon has had a first-hand view of her slyness at the hands of Petyr, so she figured Jon would have faith in her, as long as she explained herself.

'It does sounds dangerous, Sansa. The Dornish and Tyrells are not to be trusted, you of all people should know. The Dornish hate the Starks because of your aunt Lyanna, That Targaryen girl will hate us because of father and King Robert, and the Tyrells will stay with whatever side will win.'  
He looked at her more worriedly than before, his face begging for sleep but his eyes wide with fear.  
'They are southerners, Sansa. The Dragon Queen will have me bow down to her, and if I do that, I betray the entire North. It will be nearly impossible to become allies with her, and if we become enemies, we'll be in even more shit than we are now. She has three dragons, for gods sake!'  
Jon looked at his hands and dragged the palms over his face in frustration.  
At that moment, the bells rung throughout the castle, signaling for dinner to be served. Sansa stood, walked around the table to her half brother and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.  
'You don't have to decide on that all now. Let us have dinner first. And then you should get some sleep.'  
She tried to pull Jon upwards, but he shook his head and placed his head on his arms on the table.  
'I still have a small council meeting, Sansa. I won't be able to sleep for a long time.'  
Sansa smiled to herself, patting him on the furs on his right shoulder. 'You _are_ going to sleep. I will excuse your presence to the other lords and ladies for tonight during dinner, Jon.' She said innocently.  
'You can postpone your meeting to tomorrow night so you can tell everyone of your next steps. I will tell you all of mine while we eat.'  
She walked over to her vanity and checked herself in the mirror, looking quite happy with her looks. Sansa then walked over to her half brother and placed both hands on his arms.  
'Now come, King Jon, your people await you.'

She tugged at his arm then, trying again to pull him up. Jon sighed deeply and stood, eye to eye with Sansa, almost the same height. Jon looked the few inches down at her, finally permitting a small smile to enter the corner of his mouth.  
'Fine then. Shall I escort you, mylady?' He held out his arm and waited for Sansa to take it before he started walking towards the door. They stepped through the long halls of Winterfell to the Great Hall. The castle was lively again, the smell of roasting beef and strong ale, so strong she could almost taste it, the servants running around with plates.  
Sansa walked besides Jon to their place on the head of the main table. She took one look at Littlefinger and could not help but snort- very unladylike- under her breath.  
Littlefinger will not be happy about not being there for the next meeting.  
Good, she thought. The less he knew, the better.

Sansa has taken a first few steps from being a pawn in the Game to being a player. All she had to do for now was wait.


	2. Willas I

_**See the end of the chapter for notes.**_

" _What worries me most is the health and care for the smaller villages in the North, who fell victim to war and famine at the hands of the Greyjoy's and the Boltons. I worry for their lives as I would worry for the health of my kin. I pray to the old gods and the new for a short winter and a shorter war…"_

Without reading it further, the man inspecting the parchment rolled it up and hid it away in his sleeve. He enjoyed the view over Highgarden while waiting for his falcon to return from his hunt. It was a young bird, in great need of training. And big for it's age, a sign that will make for a strong, sturdy falcon for the hunt. Arryen, he called him. He brought his thumb and index finger to his lips, producing a high, clear whistle, echoing over the hills.  
His whistle was immediately responded by the screeching of his young falcon. He looked up in de sky, holding his protected arm in the air. The bird flapped its wings, dropping his prey on the ground, and landed carefully on the man's arm.  
'Good bird,' he praised him. The man noted the animal's behavior and then looked over to the ground, where the falcon dropped a dead black cat, bloodied holes in its guts where the bird caught and held it as it flew back. He scoffed to himself, A cat. How _fitting_ for the day.

A woman's voice called out to him. 'Willas!'

Willas Tyrell turned over to the source of the voice calling him. It was good-sister Leonette, widow of his late brother Garlan, of only ten-and-eight. She stopped running when she noticed the big bird resting on his arm.  
'Willas, sweetling, we must go back!' She walked the remaining couple of yards to him, a bit out of breath and panting. She dropped the yellow dress she was holding up, to the ground and looked at the bird a little wide-eyed. 'Is that Arryen? Or is it Valyra? She looks big!' she then shook her head and grabbed his arm holding his cane, shaking it to get his attention.  
'It does not matter!' she said before he could even answer.  
'We must go, the court session will start soon.' She tried to pull him with her, in the direction of the castle. Willas grinned at her, not seemingly worried in the least.  
'Court will not start until _I_ am there. Calm down, Leonette. I beg you.'  
Leonette let go of his arm and reached to her hair to get it out of her face. She breathed in, setting her lips in a pout. Willas took the opportunity to walk in the direction of the bird cages at the top of the hill on the other side. He looked behind him at his good-sister pouting and placed the falcon on his shoulder, the bird minding not to get stuck in the big sandy-coloured curls of his master.  
'I received a letter from Sansa Stark this morning.' he said. With his other hand free, he reached into his sleeve and handed the parchment over to Leonette.  
'Read it if you wish. You used to be one of her friends with Margaery and the other girls. The lady of the North greets you in this, too.'

Leonette noticed that his voice lowered significantly, mentioning his sister's name. She started walking next to him, minding her speed to match with his. She daintly grabbed the letter from his hand, trying to open it. The wind was too strong, however, so she folded it back up as good as she could and held it in her hand instead.  
'I will write her soon. Did she respond to your request? How did she like the lemons? That was my idea, I remember.' Leonette looked secretly pleased with herself. She always thought of Sansa as a friend, ever since she found out the Stark girl also had a love for lemon cakes.  
'She loves the lemons and sugar well enough, I gather,' Willas said. 'It is but a small price to pay to win over the heart of a lady of the North. She is well enough a well-bred Lady, that much I can judge from her.'  
Leonette helped her good-brother on a particulary rough patch on the hill, nodding in thought. 'That is true. A shy girl, but well pretty and courteous. A normal lady, that that dreamt of stories of knights and rescues and romance. All ruined by the _Lannisters_ , of course.'  
Willas looked thoughtful. He knew the stories of the lady Stark, of her beauty and grace, but also of her troubled past with the Lannisters in the Red Keep. Another thing he simply could not stand besides all else that happened- a Kings Guard, anointed by the seven- beating up a young, noble girl. His _intended_ , no less.  
 _Allthough that scheme did not hold for long._  
He hoped, when or if receiving word from the hand of the Queen in the East, Tyrion Lannister, the Lannister dwarf would not held the poor girl to their marriage upon his return.  
Not that it would be difficult to annull it, of course. He wagered that his close personal connections with the High Septon of the Citadel would help him in the annulment. But that required more than just the _man_ that wants to take her hand instead-

As if reading his mind, Leonette spoke up.  
'She would be a good wife to you, Willas.' She took over the North together with her half brother, while remaining unwed. She must be good at making powerful _friends_ if she managed to take the North without being forced to accept any proposal from some Lord-of-the-what-or-other.'  
Willas sniggered and gave his goodsister a wide smile, showing his white teeth, his green eyes wrinkling in jest.  
'I see you still are not quite excelling in your lessons with Maester Lomys, sweetling.'  
They were getting close to the bird cages near the castle walls. 'But it is quite clear, is it not? It is why I must woo her as well as I can, and soon too. I will see whether the maiden that dreamt of knights and rescues is still inside her yet. With my wits and _manners_ ,' he followed, opening the bird cage, 'I will hopefully not _bore_ the poor lady to death.'  
With that, he released the falcon into the cage and closed it. Leonette laughed as she handed Willas a piece of melon, who fed it to the bird.

'Let us go then, Leonette,' he said as he put his arm through hers. 'It is time to be the valliant knight to our own subjects first.'

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Willas held a tighter grip to his goblet of water as he took a good look at the nine Lannister men in front of him. His guards bloodied them up pretty bad, one large man in grey and red armor had his hands tight up behind his back, while he stared at him with one eye, the other one blackened. His lip was bloodied too.  
He knew the rest of Westeros probably laughed at the Reach for having 'knights of the summer', but they showed to be far more useful than some half-starved Lannister soldiers, spying on the comings and goings of Highgarden. They visibly hardly had the strength in them to fight back much.  
Not that _that_ would help one bit in their situation.

'We found these men lurking in the shadows, in the woods behind the Sept, my lord,' one of his man called out to him, standing in front of the men as if presenting his latest catch.  
'The others were hiding in the Westgardens, and these four were found on the road to Cider Hall.'  
Willas flicked his eyes over the men and back to Igon Vyrwel, the captain of the guards, responsible for surrounding and guarding the castle with loyal Tyrell soldiers.  
'Well done, ser Igon, well _done_.' He congratulated him, speaking slowly. His polite smile not quite reaching his eyes.  
'Some _fine_ men of the _Lannister_ army… I trust the battle was a feisty one?'  
Igon looked up at his liege with pale blue eyes, a wary expression visible on his face. Willas raised his goblet to his lips, taking a small sip.  
'I'd wager it was. Allthough…' he paused, cocking his head a bit to the side. 'I do believe it was not such a fair fight. Almost two to one.' He looked over at the crowd of Highgarden guards, awaiting the words of their Lord. Some of them lowered their eyes to the ground. Every man in Highgarden knew this expression- Lord Tyrell was not happy.  
'Tell me, Ser, how is it, that there are fifteen soldiers ready at the Sept to take on but _two_ Lannister soldiers, while in other places these numbers of soldiers are not _nearly_ present?' He asked, slowly lowering his cup to the table.  
'How is it. that _Lannister_ soldiers can go as _far as the Sept_ to begin with? How, pray tell?'  
'My lord, I…' Igon started. He inhaled nervously, looking up at Willas, who was staring back at him with raised eyebrows, awaiting the captains' _clever_ response.  
'I ask of you to do your duty, ser,' Willas sighed, sinking back into his normal, friendly self.  
'I will see to these men. Now, go and take care of a proper guard surrounding the castle. Bring every Lannister soldier straight to me. I hope it will be fewer and farther in between from now.' That last sentence wasn't a question as much as it was a demand. Protecting Highgarden was of top priority in times of war, and nine Lannister soldiers is to large a group to be called a coincidence. Mistakes would not be tolerated.

'Yes, my lord, certainly, mylord,' Ser Igon stammered. He motioned for a large group of guards to go outside. Then he bowed uncomfortably, while following quickly behind the men. The large doors of the Rose Hall closed behind him.  
Soft muttering coming from the audience of lords and ladies of court gave Willas the time to think about his next step. Before he could open his mouth to speak however, one soldier dropped to one knee on the ground.  
'My lord,' he said, lowering his head. 'I beg of you to spare my life. I have not killed, nor have I stolen. I merely followed commands.'  
Two other of the men behind him immediately followed the soldier's example, dropping to one knee, surrendering. The others stood still and rigids as boards. Willas silently looked over at the three young soldiers, no more than sixteen years old.  
Willas leaned back in his chair, waving at the one who spoke first to come forward. 'What is your name?' he asked, not unpleasantly.  
'Pycall, my lord,' the boy answered. As he expected- the boy wasn't from any great house.  
'And what is your trade?'  
'Fisherman, my lord, at Lannisport.' The boy bowed his head, visibly worried about mentioning a city that belonged to the enemy of the lord he was speaking to.  
'And the other two?' Willas asked. He placed both hands on his cane while gesturing over to the two other lads, still looking to the ground.  
'Their names are Willis and Tygo, my lord. Sons of fishermen, like me.' The lads behind him nodded in unison.

'Traitors,' muttered one of the other soldiers still standing. 'You shall hang!' another added. Willas raised his hand, prompting one of the guards to punch the soldier that spoke last in the back of his head. Willas stroked his chin in thought as the Lannister soldier grunted in pain, fighting his bindings.  
'Any more men wishing to tell me their names and their trade?' He suddenly asked.  
It stayed dead quiet for a few more moments, and then, one by one, four other young men dropped to one knee. Kevan, Lorry, Lommys and Grover- woodworkers and farmerboys, Serving as spies for the Lannisters.  
 _Because they're smallfolk,_ Willas thought. _Because they're disposable to them._ He balled his fists at the thought.  
Vortimer Crane, the master-at-arms at Highgarden, leaned over to him, whispering.  
'Mere boys, my lord. Best send them to the wall. They could prove useful there.'  
Willas nodded curtly in agreement, but then Paxter Redwyne leaned over, whispering low. 'Lads for my ships, my lord. Don't waste the food and the travel to the wall. These summerboys would do better on the water, scrubbing the deck and feeding the cattle.'  
He and Willas had a moment of eye contact before he regarded the group of men to give his verdict.  
'Good. Lannister men- All of you will be held in Highgarden to do reparations and cleaning in the Sept, since that place _interests you so_.'  
This earned a soft giggle from the other side of the table. _Leonette.  
_ 'When this is done,' he went on, 'The seven of you will be the new recruiters on the Redwyne Navy. Prove yourself with hard work, and you might yet prove yourself with a sword or cannon one day, too.'  
Willas heard some whispers coming from all sides of the audience. Giving mercy to Lannister soldiers?  
'Furthermore, _you_ two,' he waved his hand in the direction of the two big men refusing to bend the knee or speak a word in their defense.  
'You two will be sent to the wall, to live out your days protecting the realm in the North. Consider it an _honor_ to be spared, to serve the kingdoms from the Wall.'  
To his astonishment, Willas watched as Grover buried his bloodied face in his hands and began to cry. The other men looked over at him, some people in the audience sniggered. He wasn't even to be sent there!  
'Maester Lomys,' Willas called out to the old Maester sitting a few places down his left.  
'Please see to it that these men are patched up and fed. They may sleep in the cells for tonight. Tomorrow they will be all set up to work.' Without saying anything, the Maester nodded and walked in front of the nine men, guarded by flowered knights, in the direction of the cells.

Butterbumps, the fat fool- jumped into the air, a wooden horse on a stick between his chunky legs. 'Away with the boys!' He called out. 'Away away, wave to mother, the Lannister boys go on the water!'  
He then jumped behind them, bumping into the large Lannister man walking in the back.  
'To the wall! To the cold! If you are lucky you won't get old!'  
The fool skipped and jumped around the hall, finally bowing before his lord, then pulling a rose from his mouth, throwing it in the direction of Leonette. It was a sign that court has ended for the day. _Thank the gods,_ Willas thought. There were more important things to think of, and here he is, dealing with Lannister men, or minor quarrels between this and that bannerman.  
'My lord, would you like music? Would you like some tricks from Butterbumps? I can sing a song, too!'  
He started his personal favorite without needing anyone asking him to, casting mischievous glances towards Lady Leonette as he begun his song. "A bear there was, a bear, a bear!"  
"No!" Leonette squeeled. She shared Lady Olenna's disdain for "The Bear and The Maiden Fair", mocking her family of golden haired ladies. The song was believed to be about a golden haired maiden who fell in love with a brutish Mormont man, the wearers of bear sigils. But the Reach mostly believe the maiden was a Lannister, not a Fossoway.  
In any case, it was considered to be quite a scandal.  
"All black and brown, and covered with hair…" Butterbumps continued, stomping the floor in rhythm with the song.  
Leonette, while shaking her head, redfaced and uncomfortable, was acting quite to excess over the whole event. Enough is enough. Willas raised his hand for the fool to stop.

"Please, Butterbumps. no more. It makes my good-sister uncomfortable. How about some of your tricks?'  
He stood then, and immediately the crowd stood too and bowed, Butterbumps lowering his head deeper than anyone else. While Willas grabbed his cane and slowly left the Rose Hall, he could hear the fool jumping around and making strange sounds, collecting some more polite laughs from the ladies of court. Most of the people present got ready to leave, though.  
Willas followed the white stone halls, his cane clicking the floor as he counted the golden roses painted on the walls in his head. He liked to do that sometimes, it put his mind at ease with all the changes going on. Not six moonturns ago, he spent his time studying and taking care of his breedstock, yet now had he to take care of the entire Reach, as well. Ruling can be hard if the first thing you do as a liege is waging a war against the Crown.  
He knew his choices in the matter were slim to begin with. Raised as a devout of the Seven, letting the supposed "queen" of the seven kingdoms destroy a holy sept, taking the lives of his dear family members in the process- justice and revenge was to be had.  
It was the one thing he knew he shared with the Northmen- they believed in taking revenge. _Their_ gods understood.  
And taking revenge he did, spreading out his influences as far and as wide as he could. He trusted his grandmother with Danaerys Targaryen. He promised not to write her until she sent word to him. He trusted his long time friendship with the Dornish and Oberyn Martell. The second prince of Dorne… The very reason he had to walk with a bad leg and a clicking noise in his step, and some sweetwine after a particularly long day, But as the months passed and they wrote more, he found a friend in the Dornish man, who often entertained him with stories of the world, stories he could never live for himself.  
 _And the lady Sansa…_  
He slowed down his step, suddenly noticing someone walking behind him. But listening to the footsteps, it was Leonette, obviously walking slower and quieter as to not to disturb him.

'Apologies, Willas,' she said as she followed him at a leasure pace. 'I just wanted to thank you for sparing me more humiliation out of the mouth of that oaf of a fool.' She looked displeased, fidgeting with the golden rose on her necklace. 'I saw some men laughing, like a bunch of arses. It is nothing to laugh at!' she hissed at Willas, who was coughing to hide his smirk.  
'I am not laughing, my lady. It was a terrible thing that Butterbumps did, that is why I stopped it.'  
He looked down at her as he smiled, sobering up when he noticed the black handkerchief in her dress pocket. _She is still mourning_ , as _do I,_ he thought to himself. Willas was too still dressed in black, coincidentally matching the fabrics with the right garments for the weather. It was a cold, windy day, matching perfectly the sadness he has been feeling. Spending time with Leonette, getting his mind off things by working hard, training his animals and writing letters, he could almost forget the sadness for a heartbeat or two. But the castle was still in mourning- until Willas himself showed colour in is attire again, the white, sunny rose-filled castle would still be bleak and grimmy.  
At least the sigils on the ground stayed green and gold and hopeful, like they always were.

He followed his way, at a crosspoint saying his greetings to Leonette, until dinner in two hours.  
It was a long, hard day, but he still had a ways to go. There was a council meeting after dinner which he had to attend to. More and more messages from the north were coming, talking about needing men for the wall and the dangers that lurk behind it. It was high time to find more about that too. If he was to have a say in the north as well in the coming months and years, he might well find out as much, if not more, as they know.

But sleep and exhaustion was weighing on him heavily. If only he had someone to take his place sometimes, to excuse him in front of all the others.

As he reached his door, the two guards stepped aside immediately. Their clean, green coats waving as they moved. A servant opened the door for him, as he nodded politely and stepped in. Willas placed his wooden cane on his bed and scratched the sandy curls on his head. His squire placed a fresh bowl of cold water and a towel on the small table in front of him. Then he pulled out a tightly folded piece of parchment, stamped with a three-headed dragon sigil. Rodrick handed it over to him and rushed back to the corner, not saying a word.  
Willas, holding the parchment tightly in his fingers, called out for Rodrik again. He thanked him and requested he made some servant girl prepare a bath for him, dismissing him until the evening.

When he sat alone, he broke the seal on the parchment, rolling it out. It was his grandmother's handwriting.

 _Sweetling,_

 _This is all the information you need._

 _Send a raven to confirm our allegiance in your name, no more than that._

 _Call the navy and let them take sail to Sun Spear to retrieve me._

 _Grow Strong._

Willas stared at the paper for a long time, considering the implications of a letter, so soon. He expected a greater deal of trouble when dealing with Sand Snakes, and even more trouble convincing a Dragon Queen to alliance with the Tyrells. But of course, that must be the work of Tyrion Lannister. He never told anyone, but he quite admired the man, pleased to know another underestimated lord as well-read as he. As much as he did not want to think on it, he pitied the little Lannister lord too, to be cursed with a misshapen body and a cruel family. He could not bring himself to think of that lord to be part of the Lannister rulers, just as he wouldn't wish anyone to think of him as another ambitious, cunning Tyrell lord.

But he knew he had to be.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 _ **To the lady Sansa of House Stark,**_

 _It pleased me greatly to have received words from you so soon. Mylady was too kind to leave me the beautiful blue winter rose with the letter. I am certain you will someday chosen to be a queen of love and beauty one day, as should befit a lady as fa-_

He stopped writing, sighing deeply at his juvenile, overly courtly writing style. He twitched his nose in displeasure, then proceeded to crumble the parchment and toss it into the open hearth.  
He grabbed another piece of parchment and started anew.

 _ **To the lady Sansa of House Stark,**_

 _My lady honours me greatly to send word so soon. As I am writing, I have not received word from your brother, his Grace Jon Snow yet. I am not worried in the least, my lady. I trust to hear from him in due time._

 _The messenger who handed me this letter is well taken care of and on his way with provisions and a good horse, named Fillan, as a gift from me._

 _I pray mylady understands that I still seek an alliance with house Stark, and I hope the gods will allow us all to do our duty in King's Landing first, so that we might face other threats as an united Westeros, before the winter truly starts._

 _I hope mylady will do me the great plesasure of accepting the hundred and five good, strong men to aid the Wall, travelling two days behind your messenger and his escort. The weather makes the travels to the North is still fairly possible, so I sent you three carthouses filled with fabrics and pelts from the Reach as my personal gift to you._

Willas pondered upon something. A seed of thought was planted in his mind when he read his grandmother's letter. It resonated with something deep inside, whispering something about a possibility in regards to the lady Stark.

Then it clicked. And he continued his letter, smiling to himself. _Perhaps I am as cunning as my grandmother,_ he thought.

 _I could hardly imagine anything worse than the loss of so many of the innocents you spoke of in your letter. I happen to live in a place where the rich and the poor are well provided for when the winter is at its coldest, but for you, mylady, I envision an even greater burden. I care for the elders in the Reach as much as Margaery always tended for the children, those homeless or whose parents fell victim to war. Thus, to prove mine own worth in these matters, allow me a moon's turn to assist in thinking of a solution._

 _In the mean time, please accept the six ships sailing to Deepwood Motte in your name. These ships are laden with horses and cattle suited for provisions or rations, as well as the fruits, wheat and vegetables from our own gardens and fields. A seventh ship will be added for Mylady and His Grace, to use in coming battles or at your own leasure. This ship has a good amount of freshly forged armor to prepare a thousand men for battle._

Willas stopped again, wondering if this wasn't a bit too much to gift at once. He didn't want to seem too eager, did he? Then he remembered the overall plan, and shrugged it off.  
It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it, after all.  
Aside from his ambitous agenda, Willas also tried to overstep any other lord asking for her hand (mainly because of his own pride), and making damn well sure the goodwill based influence of the Tyrells grows in the process. Everything travelling north that could fit it, was stamped with a Tyrell rose. All the while enabling a courtship with the auburn-haired Northern lady.

The ships were once gifts to him from his one-and-twentieth nameday.  
Willas remembered lord Mathis Rowan, the proud lord of Goldengrove with his clean shaven, broad smile and bright eyes looking at the young heir to Highgarden, clearly proud of his gift. They were looking over the sea in Oldtown, where he had to stay for his nameday to also receive some new treatments for his leg. Looking out over the sea and seeing the seven silver boats, he could not help but blink in utter surprise. He never expected to get ships- not that he could not afford them, but because he had no personal use of them, with his bad leg and all.  
Truly, It was a poorly thought over gift from House Rowan, but for now it was only fitting. The ships were painted silver and gold and were sturdy and stylish in build, with huge silver sails and golden roses painted on the exterior. The silver and gold were favourable colours, for the message he was trying to conceive for the Starks: the Tyrell gold and Stark silver mixture ( _maybe I need to fix that colour more fittingly,_ interrupted Willas his own thoughts) would be an excellent way to make the Tyrell presence known in the North. He wrote a short note to himself to call for seamstresses to add some Stark Banners onto the ships.

 _I do hope mylady will be pleased with the alterations I had made the ships to make it more fitting to sail in your stead. My tokens will be accompanied with a small army of myself, to assist in the travel from Deepwood Motte to Winterfell._

 _With this letter, at last, I bear two other things; One is the best wishes from the lords and ladies of House Tyrell, House Fossoway and lady Taena Merryweather, Principally Megga, Alla, and Elinor Tyrell, My dear goodsister Leonette, and of course my beloved grandmother Olenna Redwyne. She wishes to see you again and sends you her seven blessings through this letter._

 _The other thing I bear this letter, is a golden rose, one I plucked form the garden this morning before training my falcons and hawks.  
_

 _See this as a testament to the legitimacy of this letter, if the word of your messenger will not be enough of an attestment to that._

It would not do to present Lady Sansa with a flower that will be well within the state of decomposing by the time it got to Winterfell. So he opted for a broche instead, a rose with jade thorns and stem, the flower made of gold and lemon quartz. A small, simple broche, not quite valuable enough to be received as jewelry, thankfully- that manner of courtship was not appropiate quite yet.  
Willas fasted the broche to the letter, signing it with his name and titles, and summoned a page to send a raven to Riverrun as fast as possible.  
He looked over at the bright yellow rose he plucked right as the Northern messenger approached him with four guards accompanying him, bringing him the letter from the Lady Stark. Willas decided to keep the rose in some water in his chambers- thinking it was quite a coincidence to be _gifted_ a rose, right as he plucked one that stood out from the rest.

 _A sign from the Seven, perhaps._

Willas did not need to ponder upon it further and for a long time too, because it was time to plan the next step. He had to prepare his army as soon as possible, going on the journey west to oversee the Tyrell Navy being build and prepared to go to Sun Spear. A journey to Oldtown, also to meet with the Archmaester of the Citadel, as well as reading more into the White Walkers, as well as inquiring about the validity of the rumours coming from the Wall, Winterfell, and other places in the North regarding them.  
One thing the Lord Tyrell prided himself on, was to handle multiple affairs at once, striking two flies with one stroke. It was one of the things you learn when living with a cane and a shattered knee.

But even the strongest roses need support while growing.

And the Tyrells were growing strong indeed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 **Notes:**

 _ **You have taken a first look at Sansa and Willas's personality for this fanfiction. It is how I always imagined Willas to be, thoughtful, witty, intelligent, but also a bit of a romantic, and Sansa the way she would be by now in the Winds of Winter (judging by the Alayne-chapter) but groomed for greater things than being the lady of the Vale, growing into a player on her own volition.**_

 _ **As always, I do not own anything related to ASOIAF. All rights belong to the one and only GRRM Martin.**_


	3. Petyr I Myranda I

_**See the end of the chapter for notes. I do not belong anything related to ASOIAF. It is all the work of GRRM Martin.**_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 _ **To my dear Ladyfriend, Sansa Stark of Winterfell,**_

 _My sweet Sansa,_

 _I hope you are faring well, all the way up in the North. It must be snowing and freezing more than it does here. Flowers still bloom in between the mountains though, and it is a pretty sight to see.  
_ _The Gates of the Moon is a tedious place without you. How I yearn for you to be back in the Vale as my bedmaid, as Alayne Stone!  
_ _As Lady of the North, you would not think of gossiping with the ladies like you used to, but I do miss it so. Is there any way I could still burden you with a pillow-tax, from your own chambers in Winterfell?  
_ _You are wittier than the knights of Gulltown and Saltpans visiting off and on. They take on referring the name and location of this castle to my undergarments, if you understand.  
_ _Naturally, I still have Mya Stone who follows me around the castle and she is still our sweet girl, but her feet are cold at night and the taxes she pays is terribly dull. I wager she misses Lothor Brune, perhaps that is the answer to why I sleep with a cold-mannered, frigid sausage instead of the hibernating mule that I know she truly is. Send Ser Lothor back to her soon, sweetling. It is already cold enough at night without her frosty heart chilling the furs on my bed.  
_ _My Lord father warns me to be careful with what I write in my letters to my friends, I say I could not be careful enough. Perhaps, if some Lord snatches one of my letters, I would be noticed at last, and he would ask for my hand.  
_ _Unless I have to get married to a mule or sausage, my nightly situation will improve immensely._

Petyr Baelish could not help but scoff slightly at what he read in the letter. That foolish girl, a close friend to the most powerful Lady of the North, yet shows unable to write about more important matters.  
He pondered the three seconds imagining _himself_ being that 'some Lord' who notices the Lady Myranda by seizing her letters.

 _As if._

But she is witty, Petyr had to give her that.  
He eyed through the rest of the letter, consisting of no more than the Lady giving her good wishes and writing comforting words over Harrold's death, immediately followed by the latest gossip from the Vale. As if there is nothing better to do with one's time writing.  
He had no idea what she meant by 'pillow tax', though, but it could not possibly be important. Petyr knew that no unaccounted for gold or valuables were travelling from Winterfell to the Gates of the Moon. Petyr threw the young girl in front of him an out-of-character frown and waved the letter at her, dismissively.

'This is not useful to me. It belongs to Myranda Royce, and is of no importance to the Lady Sansa's person or the North. Why would you bother bringing me this?'  
The carrot-haired four-and-ten aged kitchen wench flinched as if he has struck her.  
'Apologies, my Lord, I only thought…' she looked straight to the floor and tightened her fists, shaking her head as she swallowed her words.  
'Forgive me, my Lord. I shall do better next time, and not show her letters again.'  
That ridiculous gossip, that of young Lady Myranda and the like, it must have been the cause of this ludicrous display of fear. It was something that sparked his ire- he had never struck a woman, and he certainly would not start with some freckled child he barely even remembered the name of. Jeyna? Jessa?  
Anyhow, this also showed that he had not much more of a favourable reputation, closer to the Bloody Gate.  
Whatever the girl's name was, She had just brought him valuable information.  
Not that he would tell _her_ that, ofcourse.  
He forced back his annoyance at the girl's frightened stance and sighed.  
'No matter. This Lady is too talkative. One day it might prove useful in her correspondence.'  
He twitched the corner of his mouth as he grabbed the girl's hand. Opening her fingers with his own, he placed a silver stag in her sweaty palm.  
'Here,' Petyr said, a friendlier look on his face now. He heard the girl gasp softly as she looked at her silver coin. She finally dared to raise her eyes to his.  
'Take this. Keep a good watch out for all the letters. Make sure everything is sealed properly before putting it back in Maester Colemon's chambers.'  
The girl could only nod up at him, her eyes wide with something else other than fear this time, her loose hair waving behind her as she then ran from him, completely forgetting her curtsies. Petyr stuck his head out of the doors and looked to his left and right.  
Spotting no one, he nodded to the knight to close the door behind him.

Petyr headed over to the water basin across his study to wash his hands. He lifted the corner of his mouth when he looked at himself through the looking glass- even this early in the morning, he already looked sharp and proper enough to face any visitor. It was necessary to look convincing to play the part as Protector of the Vale. But for today, he did it especially to look stern for the little Lord Robert.  
His smile froze when he heared some ruckus going on from the Great Hall, some clattering of plates and cups and Robert's whiny voice audible from his chambers.  
His stepson, Petyr thought bitterly, as he closed his eyes for a moment.  
It always took a great amount of willpower not to shiver in the prospect of dealing with another breakfast with the spoiled little brat. As lean and unintimidating a man he was, somewhere he had a hope that the Lord Robert would grow to mind his behavior and obey with one simple cold glance. Granted Lysa hadn't spoiled him beyond repair, of course.

The scene when he entered the great hall of the Eyrie was a foretelling of what a day it was going to be: Lord Robert was in fetal position on the floor, stuttering words of protest while breathing quickly, his oversized tunic darkened by water. His breeches and the floor, as well as Myranda's dress, were splotched with what looked like the a big portion of his chickenbroth breakfast. Looking stern and intimidating would not suffice this time.  
Not that gentle Myranda Royce nor the ancient Maester Colemon helped much to solve the child's temper, either.  
They hoped to salvage whatever they could with soft words, stroking his trembling hands. Petyr frantically motioned for a servant girl to clean up the mess Lord Arryn had made.  
'What is going on here?' he demanded as two girls moved in front of him to clean the mess, quick and efficiently like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.  
The sound of Petyr's voice silenced Robert immediately, but making him shake all the more while hiding his reddened, wet face in Myranda's bosom. She immediately started stroking his long, brown hair, looking up at Petyr worriedly.  
'I think Lord Arryn is still a bit tired, Lord Baelish. He would not eat his chicken broth, nor drink any water-'  
'I don't _want_ chickenbroth! I want… I want lemon cakes and honey… Honeycombs…'  
He coughed and trembled in Myranda's arms, keeping his eyes closed tightly.  
'Hush, my brave, strong Lord. Everything will be all right.' Myranda tried to shift the Lord in her arms to make for a better position to stand.  
'I want to go to bed… And I want stories. Myranda, read me stories…'  
Petyr grinded his teeth at hearing old maester Colemon pleading to the child. 'My Lord, let us take you back to bed. You must sleep and eat some broth, at least. Now, please-'  
Myranda Royce tried to stand up while holding the small, messy boy in her arms. Robert immediately started to squeal in protest.  
'Bring Lord Arryn back to his chambers.' Petyr dismissed them both with a low voice, barely managing to hide the pent up rage behind his voice.  
'Leech him. Give him some sweetmilk, and see to it…'  
He paused to take a look at the remaining mess of chicken broth on Robert's flabby chest.  
'...That he _eats_ his breakfast, as a Lord befits.'  
He twitched his lip in indignation as he took his seat on the High Table. The two greeted him half-heartedly while struggling with Robert, at last taking the trembling little Lord with them as they left.

He was thankful that Lord Royce and the others hadn't awoken yet. The castle was actually quite empty now, with most of the Vale bannermen residing in Winterfell and Riverrun to protect it.  
It seemed the Kingslayer left the capitol with his army the week before, so Jon Snow sent a portion of the Vale residing close by to Riverrun to help defend it in case the Lannisters were to seek a battle. Lord Tyrell doubled the guards surrounding the Reach, and especially Highgarden, to spy on the Lannister army while readying themselves for battle in case they crossed their territory.  
On his travels to the Gates of the Moon, -picking up Lord Robert from Fairmarket on the way-, he heard word of how the Lannister army marched past the Reach peacefully, banners of truce raised as they travelled. Anxious summerknights suited up for an exciting battle against the Lannisters- half expecting a trap- knowing for sure a new war would begin right there.

This, however, was not the case as of yet- the Kingslayer was on his way to Casterly Rock, marching straight ahead and barely stopping to rest on the way.  
Jamie Lannister had but few choices, anyhow. Returning to King's Landing for long after retreating from Riverrun… Only a fool would dare face Cersei's wrath in person, even if you're Jamie Lannister.  
Petyr was glad _he_ had planned ahead, already far away in the North where Cersei's wildfire could not reach him even if she tried.  
He did not care much about prince Tommen, nor Mace Tyrell or his children for that matter, but neither did he enjoy hearing all the reports from his messengers. He _did_ feel slightly bad for his whores and clients though, present at the brothels nearby when the Sept of Baelor went up in flames- He frowned for almost two hours over the loss of his investments.  
Taking Cersei back for imprisoning Ser Loras and Lady Margaery was never intended to be met with a retaliation of that magnitude- neither the Queen of Thorns nor he himself had been prepared for that. Nothing much changed for him, he chose the right side before it was too late. His "friendship" with Olenna Tyrell was as strong as it was. He reckoned befriending the young Lord Tyrell wouldn't be all that hard either, both sharing a love for hawks and horses and being well-read. He sighed inwardly- Willas Tyrell shared some supposed qualities with one of his other rivals, Tyrion Lannister, both being clever and an outcast of the family- a new gameplayer he wasn't allowed to underestimate.

As he greeted some Lords and ladies of court joining him at the long table, he thought back of another time he made _that_ mistake- but it wasn't as if he could have had expected it by any chance.  
At the first royal court meeting after the Lannister's victory over Stannis. Joffrey granted him Harrenhal. There was a big reason why Petyr was quick and graciously enough to accept his royal reward, for it came with a bonus in the form of a very important pawn.  
 _Arya Stark._  
She was most likely captured near Harrenhal in the weeks before, serving there as a cupbearer to Lord Tywin. A good position to work in for a girl, but a prisoner nonetheless.  
Years of practice keeping his face straight was the only thing restraining him from laughing during _that_ meeting with the old lion.  
Because _of course_ he recognized Arya Stark- Surely- he had but one half of a conversation with the girl, but that was enough for him to pinpoint her face to Catelyn's younger daughter after a minute observing her, even with her hair cut short.  
 _As if nervously spilling the water on my breeches wasn't enough of a tell-tale sign._  
She _did_ fool the old Lion though, and Petyr was wiser than to let him or the queen know who it was that served him. Right under his nose.

But those Lannister _imbecils_ let the child get away.

It was quite a blow to his well laid-out out plans when he found out she disappeared from Harrenhal. He had planned to pick her up in due time, first as a pawn to get Robb Stark and Catelyn on his side. But after the Red Wedding, he decided to pick her up when taking a little detour on his way back to the Vale. Letting _her_ take the role of his niece while in the Eyrie, keeping Lady Sansa to himself. On his way there he heard the girl got away, as no one had seen a girl dressed like a boy as Arya was described, and by then he could also not hope to rescue Sansa in time for her marriage to the Imp.  
Stealing her from the Lannisters _while_ blaming Joffrey's murder on the dwarf at the same time, proved a simpler task, and a far better plan than stealing Sansa away before her betrothal. Some clever planning and lucky circumstances killed two stones with one mockingbird.  
Right after getting rid of the vicious boy-king, Sansa's rescue put her in the perfect position to stay close to him, if not out of gratitude, then out of lack of having anywhere else to go but to him and her aunt Lysa.

Petyr smiled as he stood up, acknowledging the remaining people at his table with a courteous nod. He then stepped out of the hall, his guards following him through the stony corridors at a respectful distance.  
There were a few things he had to attend to before court. But first it was high time to make new arrangements and alliances, throughout Westeros and beyond. A long string of foiled schemes was in desperate need for replacement and there was little time to waste.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 _To His Grace Jon Snow, King in the North,_

Petyr could not help but curl his lips slightly in distaste over the task of writing to the King in the North. What is it with Stark-men taking everything away right within reach from him? First his dignity, Brandon Stark almost slicing him in half in the process, then his Ladylove, both Brandon and Eddard stealing away sweet Catelyn Tully, and this time, Eddard's bastard son stealing the North and Sansa's trust all from under his nose.  
Harrold Hardyng, the dim-witted falcon got himself killed in battle, making Sansa run to her half-brother for support in the blink of an eye, instead of him. Why, who wouldn't choose a king over a simple mockingbird?

In addition to that, Sansa was getting more and more clever by the day. Writing to Myranda Royce and her uncle Edmure like she did, while being distant to him in _his_ letter and pretending to be indifferent towards his leave from Winterfell.

 _And that little trick she played, re-arranging for the council meeting to be held after I would have left already._

Nothing yet that would compromise his overall plans, thankfully. But it would have been convenient to plant _some_ thoughts into the King's head right before leaving, or to have at least given a chance to observe how rash he is in making decisions in desperate times. He did not have much chances to speak to the King in private since retaking Winterfell, but he supposed that as long as he still had influence over Sansa, it wouldn't matter as much. Let King Snow take care of his White Walkers and Wights, preferably as far away from Winterfell as possible. Anyone with half the wits of a hen knew who had the true key to ruling the North in the end- Sansa Stark.  
But that clever woman would soon again look for help beyond than what Petyr could offer her, so it was yet again time to divide his pieces over the board.

Propriety dictated him to maintain good contacts with Jon Snow for now, officially, so he took a large sip of arbor wine, and continued his letter to the King in the North.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 **Myranda I**

The day would be misty and cold in between the mountains, but Mya Stone practically dragged her out of her chambers this morning. The night before, she had not been able to sleep, so she worked on her household duties until well into the night. She planned on sleeping in, but Mya shook her awake only after a couple of hours after she went to sleep, practically _begging_ her to roam the castle and spend time with her.

Myranda half expected something terrible to have happened when she woke her, instead she groaned tiredly and let her head fall back to the pillow.  
'Are you mad, you silly…' she yawned.'…Woman! It's still night! I need sleep.'  
She rolled over then, trying to ignore her bedmaid, who was still sitting up from her side of the mattress.  
She heard her swallow then, waiting around for a few more heartbeats. Then she stood up silently.  
'I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Myranda. Sleep well.'  
Myranda heard the pang of disappointment in her voice.  
'Wait.' She stopped her.  
'I'll come too. Under one condition.'  
Mya, holding her hand on the doorknob, tried to look at her in the darkness, her Ladyfriend barely visible in the misty morning light.  
'What is it?' she asked.  
There was a moment of silence where Myranda rubbed her eyes.  
'I am _not_ going to clean any stables. And you _will_ join me for tea.'

Myranda had to summon her handmaidens to bath and dress her early in the morning. She wore a dark blue velvet dress today, with green stitches and sleeves that almost reached her feet. What she liked about it most was how the dress had a bodice that formed her breast in the right ways.  
The two ladies wandered through the castle, on to the balcony for tea. Myranda Royce managed to convince her friend to play music during tea, so there they went, Mya in her simple clothing and Myranda walking arm in arm with her, two strapping guards behind them carrying their instruments. One comely Gulltown-knight turned his head over to Myranda as they walked past. It happened often enough to her pleasure, being in her position as the young, unwed Lady-housekeeper to the Gates of the Moon. What she wasn't pleased about however was the poor breakfast she had this morning. Most of the cooks in the castle were still abed, so they both had to make do with some bread and cheese and water.  
She never liked to start a morning like that. Myranda enjoyed waking up with a long, warm bath, accompanied with oils and candles. And sitting down in the morning light in the Great Hall, breaking her fast with warm bread, eggs and roasted pork.

 _And some wine to prepare for one of Lord Arryn's tantrums._

Together they walked onto the balcony, that was still overgrown with vines and valley shrub lillies, colourful lavender blooming in between the mountains below. The balcony looked like a ship of summer riding a sea of snow and purple flowers. Thankfully the day wasn't too windy, but the mist still drifted right above the ground. It made for a pretty, mysterious sight.  
Both took a seat on the chairs while their guards placed down their instruments, bowed and left them. As their handmaidens placed tea and cups on their table, Myranda ordered for the other girl to bring them custard, puddingcakes and blueberrytarts.

She needed that, after such a lousy morning standing up early to feed Mya's mules.  
Both took out their instrument and practiced _Fallen Leaves,_ a sad song to start with, but easy enough for Mya Stone to follow. They talked about news they heard from King's Landing, how the queen had not left the Red Keep since her coronation, and of the supposed Targaryen queen in Mereen. They discussed the whispers of her return to Westeros and of the Lannister queen and her wildfire.  
Letting the tunes of their harp and lute drift through her mind for a moment in between songs, she looked over the mountains. The sky looked as bit as dreary as she felt.  
 _And since it was partially Mya's fault…  
_ 'You must feel terrible about it, knowing that even you have more rights to the iron throne than Cersei does, given that they allow bastards and women to rule Westeros, these days.' Myranda sighed dramatically as she plucked at the strings of her high harp.  
"Lucky maidens, you and Sansa Stark would be, both a kingdom to rule and any Lord at your choosing."  
She looked at her friend teasingly. 'You would grant me a _handsome_ Lord, wouldn't you?'  
Mya Stone stopped fingering her wooden lute, looking at her friend without any expression on her face.  
'I do not care for any of that. I would appreciate if we do not speak of such things. Before too long, I'll be casted as traitor.' She leaned backwards over the balcony, her eyes searching for any suspicious behavior in the snowy gardens below.  
Myranda gave her a friendly shove. 'You are too worried, Mya! Everyone in the Vale knows sweet Mychel took your maidenhead and he still got married to my niece. My father and uncle see you as a mule and no more than that, sadly…' Myranda sighed, looking over the balcony over the large road following to the Eyrie. 'I am quite certain they would never recognize your capabilities as I do, my dear.' She set her high harp aside when the song ended and stretched her fingers.  
'And what _capabilities_ are those, might I ask?' Mya asked her warningly.  
'Your unnerving beauty and ladylike manners, of course.'  
'You honour me, my Lady,' Mya said tonelessly. Myranda giggled and leaned forward, pouring themselves another cup of sweet tea. She took one quick sip and started a new, cheerful song. _Fair Maids of Summer._  
Myranda saw one of her handmaidens walk up to the balcony with a tray of treats. Myranda's face lightened up immediately, setting her lips in a cheek-lifting smile, revealing her dimples.  
The servantgirl barely had the time to place down her tray before Myranda took a blueberry tart and set her teeth in it.  
She felt better at once.  
Chewing a mouth full of the sweet cake, she didn't even notice her page waiting patiently to disturb her. When she saw him, she raised her hand to her lips to hide the unladylike mouth movements, gesturing with her other hand for him to come closer. The raven-haired child bowed his head as he took a step forward.  
'My Lady, Your Lord father summons you to his chambers at once. If you please,' he added after seeing her disheartened reaction upon his message.  
Myranda quickly stuffed the rest of her tart in her mouth and wiped the crumbs from her dress. She then took one last cake for on her way and bade her friend goodbye, agreeing to meet up later to do needlework together.

 _What could it be that father wants from me?_ Myranda wondered as her guards escorted her to the west wing of the castle.  
Nestor Royce waited for her in his chambers, one looking over the narrow road below in the small windows, the stones lit with candles and torches. The hearth was firing up enough heat through the room to make it comfortable. Her Lord father sat in his chair filled with stamps and papers as he looked at her sternly.  
'Myranda.' He greeted her shortly.  
'Father,' Myranda said lightly as she walked over to him to kiss him on the cheek. Her father hardly had any reponse however, as he bade her to sit down.  
'Daughter, we need to discuss something that has been due for a long time.' Her father said. Myranda's throat tightened, his stern tone of voice turned her stomach around, making the blueberry tarts bubble in her tummy.  
'What is it, father?' Myranda asked, trying her best to look unnerved. She knew it could only be about one thing when he gazed at her this way.  
 _Marriage._

It would probably take another three days to talk her father out of it, whoever he has in mind this time.  
Just because her husband died while doing his chamberduties, does not mean she has to marry below her standards. And those were _very_ high.

'As you know, the snows are falling and Jon Snow is king in the North.' Nestor Royce started. 'Robert may not live for too long and he has no heir but us. We _are_ the second most well-faring house in the Vale, so it will be your uncle Yohn and his sons to inherit the Eyrie and all of Lord Robert's titles. Soon, King Jon and Sansa Stark will meet with the dragon queen, and House Royce and the Vale need to be on the right side when this happens.  
Myranda nodded, casting her eyes to the sky visible from where she stood. No army could reach the mountains without walking into a slaughter house, but _Dragons…_ They would not care about sharp stone mountains or narrow passageways.  
"If the rumours of the Dragon Queen are true, she will surely succeed in taking over the Seven Kingdoms, with Tyrion Lannister and her dragons by her side. With most of Westeros being against Cersei, it is but a matter of time before her head is on a spike together with Jamie Lannister's. And with either Jon waging a war he can't win against her, or them setting an alliance- we need to be on good terms with both sides. No matter how one looks at it- the North will soon fall under the Targaryen's rule once more. King Jon and that Targaryen girl will agree to alliance for the good of all the Kingdoms- if they both have any wits about them.'

 _He is going to offer Jon a marriage proposal,_ she thought with a shock. _To me,_ _to the Vale_ , _before it's too late.  
_ Her heart started to beat faster at the thought of Jon. Her mind returned to the fist time he spoke to her in Moat Caillin.

 _She had been alone all night at the feast after their armies successfully took the Twins,_ _the guests who had travelled from the Riverlands to them, had dined on honeyed ham, buttered carrots,_ _green bean salad and roasted beef.  
_ _Harrold Hardyng and Sansa Stark were seated next to each other at the main table, laughing and talking, and next to her bastard brother Jon, who was prodding at his food and brooding silently. Her Lord Father was in the back of the great hall, speaking in hushed tones with Petyr Baelish._

 _The musicians started a new song, prompting some guests present to stand up and take their position in a dance.  
Myranda wished to dance too, but none of the men present had noticed her. It bothered her quite a bit- there were many maidens and servantgirls present, and all were ridiculously delicate-looking, skinny girls, tall, with bright blue eyes and either gold-haired or kissed by fire._

' _Lady Royce?'_

 _She looked up at Jon Snow standing before her. He his eyes were dark, his beard trimmed neatly. Jon Snow was also quite muscular built, but not too tall.  
But surely comely, especially his eyes... it was as if they spoke to her._  
 _'Yes?' Myranda felt a soft blush rising to her cheeks. Sansa's bastard brother was the first to speak to her this evening and he seemed a bit shy about it. She had not expected herself to react this way, forgetting her curtsies and blushing like a maiden.  
'Would you… Would my Lady care for a dance?' Jon asked, averting his eyes as he raised his hand in a clumsy, yet courtly manner.  
'I… I saw you sitting here, alone, and… I thought perhaps you might enjoy a dance... if my lady finds me worthy.'  
Myranda held his hand in hers. He was but a bastard, but that never meant anything to her. The young man looked kind and handsome in his own Northern way.  
He is the comeliest man at the feast, Myranda thought. He wants to dance with me. Not Sansa, not any servantgirl or Riverrun-cousin, but me.  
'It would be my pleasure, Jon,' she said as she gave his hand a soft squeeze._

'In any case,' her father continued, pulling her from her thoughts. 'No matter how one looks at it, an alliance is best to be brokered by means of marriage, and that is the duty I ask of you to do.'  
'Of course, father,' Myranda said at once. She started to feel more elated by the second. _I can make him fall for me_ , she thought _. I know I can._ The flash of Jon's reassuring smile as she apologized for being a clumsy dancer slipped through her mind.  
'If all goes well,' Nestor Royce followed, 'you shall be rule over more kingdoms than Sansa Stark or any other Lady in the Seven Kingdoms, aside from the future queen.  
'I shall do my duty, father.' Myranda said meekly. _Jon is the King in the North. I shall be his queen, even if Daenerys Targaryen forces him to kneel. The North knows only one king._  
'Good,' her father said. Myranda suddenly noticed a flicker of pity behind her father's light blue irises.  
'It is why I have decided to broker a marriage between you and Tyrion Lannister, hand of the Queen in the east. To marry him when the time comes and rule Westeros in the queen's name, together.'

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 ** _Notes: Thank you for reading! Sorry for not uploading the past couple of days. I had some plotrelated issues and a big whopper migraine on Tuesday. I hope you_ _liked this Vale-chapter, because there's gonna be more of 'em._**

 **Please review! :D**


	4. Jon I

**I don't own anything that has something to do with ASOIAF or Game of Thrones. It is all the work of GRRM Martin and D &D, seven blessings upon them.**

 **See the end of the chapter for notes.**

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 _To the lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell._

 _My dear niece,_

 _I pray you and his Grace are of good health and well protected in the North. The armies from the Vale and those left to guard Riverrun reside here still, awaiting any attack from the Lannister's part. His oath to you is of more importance to him that one would imagine from a kingslayer._

 _When the recruiter of the Nightwatch- I forgot his name- returns to the north with the men of the Reach, I will send along with them the armies guarding Riverrun and the Twins._

 _'_ Beron…' Jon heard Sansa mutter as she read the letter and huffed with amusement.  
'Maybe forgetting people's names is a trait from my Tully side- Even I am surprised that I remembered it.'  
Jon knew Uncle Edmure had to spend much time with Beron two moons ago, sending the captured men from the Twins and Riverrun to the Wall. They even had to send for another man of the Night's Watch to escort them there, so that Beron did not have to take a small army of Frey- and Lannistermen throughout the southern region to recruit men for the Wall.  
Beron was reported to have been stuck around Bitterbridge back when it was still unsure who the Tarly's would side with, and Sansa had told Jon how she ordered Podrick to send the letter to Willas by raven from Riverrun, guarding it from Petyr until he left Fairmarket.  
All so that Littlefinger wouldn't notice, Sansa explained one night, as they both sat by the fire in his chambers. All so that he wouldn't know.  
That is why he thought Sansa would be angry with him now, he read her letter from her uncle Edmure without her permission. But the page _handed_ it to him while he was praying, and Jon had been hoping to receive a confirmation for weeks, of the Tully- and Vale forces returning north. So he read it any way,

Sansa didn't seem to care much about it though. The message from Edmure Tully seemed good-spirited overall, providing them with promising words. He was glad that their uncle was familiar enough with them to make japes- it only meant that they had a strong bond- something that made them Sansa and him both feel somewhat less worried.  
But there was more in the letter.  
 _  
I have taken the freedom to send a messenger to Jamie Lannister. The messenger bears offerings of a truce between the abandoned Lannister-army he has taken to Casterly Rock, and the Riverlands.  
I have thought of your need for more men, and I concluded that Lannister-men not under the command of Cersei would be a valuable addition to our armies, ready at his Grace Jon's command to go North.  
The truce-offerings for Jamie Lannister and those under his commands, are thus agreed upon if these conditions are met:_

 _-Jamie Lannister and his army will return to Riverrun, unarmed and white banners raised, to kneel before the Lords of the Riverlands, and surrender, acknowleding Edmure Tully and his heirs as their Liege, setting all able fighting men under the command of their new Liege, as well as all the harvests, weapons, and gold that can be spared to aid the Riverlands, as well as the North and the Vale.  
-In exchange for this, No soldier will cross the Westerland borders to seek any conflict- with the exclusion of passing judgement to any who disobeys an order from their Liege, and to aid in restoring damages of war- at the start of next Spring for as long as the mentioned conditions are met.  
-In addition, The lords of the Riverlands will acknowledge Jamie Lannister as Lord of the Westerlands and Lord of Casterly Rock, which entails their Liege will not personally attempt to exercise authority over the Westerlands, for as long as the conditions mentioned are met._  
 _-If Jamie Lannister agrees with these conditions, he will have a moon's turn to send a raven to suggest a match for a marriage to seal these agreements, or any counterconditions from his part, and to inform of their travels to Riverrun to bend the knee._

 _I shall make an effort to send a letter each sennight regarding the affairs here. I pray you will do me the same kindness._

 _His Grace, and you, Lady Sansa, if you are attempting to seek an alliance with Jamie Lannister, please inform me of this as I have done for you._

 _Lastly, my men have reported to me about Lord Willas Tyrell and a portion of his army, they are said to be travelling in the direction of Oldtown. They also report seeing guarded litters of carts, raised with Tyrell banners, on the King's Road, going North, in case you wish to know of these things._

 _I beg of you to send word in case you are considering settling an alliance with the Tyrells, it would be an honor counselling his Grace on this matter, as his kin and ally._

 _You will hear from me soon,_

 _Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun and the Riverlands and Lord-Paramount of the Trident._

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'Your uncle Brynden will _punch_ him if he reads this,' Jon commented when he noticed Sansa had finished reading. She set her lips in a thoughtful pout.  
'It seems to me good uncle Edmure wants to have an army of his own, even if it would consist of Jamie's men. I can imagine he would want _that,_ to humiliate Ser Jamie a bit further…' Sansa frowned.  
'Under ''His grace's" command, my _arse_ ,' she said. Jon almost choked in his ale and turned over to her.  
'He is expecting retaliation from Cersei Lannister, trying to collect Jamie before it happens and keep him as a hostage.' Sansa looked at her lemoncake and took a bite from it as if all was normal.  
'If Edmure is even a _bit_ cunning, he would anyway.'  
'But if Jamie Lannister were to accept these terms, it would be safe to assume Cersei broke with her brother officially.' Jon placed his cup down in front of him. 'We could get him North to help us.'  
'Unless he has gone to Casterly Rock on the Queen's command,' Sansa thought out loud. 'You reckon the queen might have forgiven Ser Jamie? Maybe she sent him to Casterly Rock herself.'  
'Is the _Queen_ the sort of woman that would send a large part of her _dwindling_ army right by her enemies without doing anything?' Jon shook his head.  
'That's a huge risk to take. If the Reach or your uncle hadn't respected the truce -banners when they granted them save conduct, their army as well as her brother would have been destroyed by a hundred to one already.'  
'Not a _hundred to one_!' Sansa laughed at his exaggeration. He watched Sansa as she gave him a small push. _It all seems almost funny to her._  
'But yes, they would be obliterated. For now, it is best we wait for uncle Edmure's messages regarding him. As far as Cersei Lannister goes…' Sansa gave him a smile that made her eyes glisten.  
'If Daenerys Targaryen goes straight to King's Landing, Cersei will be roasting in dragonfire before the year is done.'

Jon frowned a bit at hearing his sister talk this unladylike, something he noticed that changed in his sister's behavior. During court or small council meetings, she would voice her opinion loud and clearly, and a bit more crudely than he would have expected from _Sansa_. But then there had been a times that he gazed at her from the other side of the Dining Hall or while eating their meals together in his chambers, where Sansa would stare at her plate with an unnerving smile around her lips. As if she was planning things in secret, silently bemused.  
Then again, ever since their reunion she had been lovelier to him than she'd ever been. It were her smiles and glistening eyes that distracted him from his broodings as she shook him out of his thoughts and spoke to him. She entrusted with him gossip and her schemes, and she _touched_ him in a fashion that he's never dreamt of when he was a boy. Back then he had to look at how she glanced at him with disdain, reminding him of his blood and huffed as she turned away, her skirts waving behind her.  
But all those memories faded away however, when he walked onto the courtyard in Mout Caillin and spotted her auburn hair in the distance. He could only outstretch his arms as she ran over to him from the courtyard. Light snowflakes danced in the air and melted on their faces, hot and teary from emotion. Sansa clung to him, shaking and crying from grief and joy as he kissed her forehead and held her tight.  
From that moment she has treated him like her closest companion. She invited him to sit next to her each night since then, and kept eachother informed of their plans. They had grown into close siblings, a _team_ as they tried to rule the North together. He trusted her with his life as she trusted him with hers.  
But ruling together came with being honest too, even if he had to be skeptical for it.

'He could use a bit of slyness, yes, but after Daenerys Targaryen takes King's Landing?' He asked. 'I don't think the Dragon Queen will appreciate Edmure just _handing_ over the Westerlands to the man that killed her father.'  
Sansa kept silent while re-reading the terms for their truce.  
'For that part, both ser Jamie nor the dragon queen will not take their acknowledgement very seriously, I think.' She said, following Edmure Tully's handwriting with her finger.  
'Uncle Brynden will smack him twice more for feigning to be in control over who rules the Westerlands, as if he has any say in the matter.' Sansa sighed as she rolled up the parchment.  
'I shall write uncle Brynden today, to let him talk some sense into the man.'  
'Good. Thank you, Sansa.'  
He did not know Brynden Tully well, but even _he_ knew the Blackfish would not come up with such a short-sighted offering of peace. Jon chuckled at the thought of Edmure Tully getting slapped by the big, stern-faced Brynden. He took a large sip of his ale, as he momentarily enjoyed himself. The great hall was warm and smelled like food, a bard played in a corner as many knights and lords were seated at long tables.

They both resumed their dinner, consisting of black saucages, sweet potatoes and leek soup.  
The meal was simple but savory, the candles lighting the greal halls and chambers. They only burned in between certain hours, a way to save up on their resources. It meant for the most part that the inhabitants of Winterfell shared their daily routines, resulting in precious body warmth and food to be shared equally among them. It made for a cozy atmosphere in Winterfell, the people sharing laughter together, where it was warm. Sansa did a good, efficient job at taking care of the Household as he tried to raise armies and prepare for winter and war. Every day, after a long day of discussing defenses and preparing for army of the death, he'd come into the castle, tensed and worried. But then he would walk into the great hall- and it felt like coming home for a moment.

Jon was about to take the last bite from his black sausage when Maester Helliweg interrupted him with a letter. He stood behind him, the maester's hand wrinkly and shaking as he handed over a sealed parchment. Jon immediately recognized the sigil.

The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

Jon swallowed as he took it from his hand. He saw Sansa staring at it from the corner of his eyes. He looked at the maester, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in worry.  
'This came with a raven a moment ago, your Grace.' Jon sighed and handed the parchment over to his sister.  
He felt Sansa smiling slightly as he turned over to Maester Helliweg to thank him. 'I will call for another council meeting first thing tomorrow.'  
He heard Sansa broke the seal right as he breathed in. 'I would like you to join the meeting, Maester, to provide us with the knowledge of the Citadel as well as the Vale's if necessary.'  
Helliweg bowed at once. 'It would be an honor to advise you, Your Grace. I shall stay close by for your announcement.'  
Jon nodded and greeted the man as he walked away from him. He looked over at Sansa to ask her what the letter was about, instead he remained silent when he saw the parchment rolled close as she held it tight and looked at her table. He leaned over to her and whispered.  
'Are you allright, Sansa?'  
Sansa nodded, her cheeks reddened and lips tight in a smile.  
' _Tyrion Lannister_ ,' She whispered so softly he almost couldn't hear. She stood up then and excused herself, taking one sip of water before she all but ran out of the hall. Brienne close behind her.  
Jon swallowed hard, his heart picking up in speed.  
He could only imagine what that meant. He knew that Tyrion Lannister served as hand of the queen… who knows what could be in there. A peace offering at best, a chance to surrender and bow or be burned by dragonfire at the worst.  
He had to know it.

He stood up, about half of the crowd following behind a they bowed their heads until Jon walked out. He walked the narrow steps and along the passageways to Sansa's chambers. He knocked and waited for Sansa to call him in.

It was she who opened the door for him and motioned him inside, without saying a word.

'Sansa, what did he say? What do they want?'  
'Shh!' Sansa held a finger to her lips as she closed the door. Once they were inside, they both took a seat on the couch in front of the hearth, still burning in ashes.  
Sansa sighed deeply.  
'What is it, Sansa?' he asked as he placed a hand on her arm. He thought a quick prayer to the old gods. They needed an alliance. They need to speak, at the very least.  
Sansa looked at him then, her eyes free from tears, to his relief, but she looked stricken all the same.

'Tyrion Lannister sends his best wishes…' She said as she looked down at her parchment. It was slightly crumpled from her tight grip, so he gently took it from his fingers.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 _To Jon Snow of Winterfell,_

 _Queen Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, invites you to Dragonstone._ _We seek an alliance to join the forces of the north and those of my Queen._ _The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Together we can end Cersei's tyranny._ _My queen commands the combined forces of Dorne and the Reach, legions of Unsullied, a Dothraki horde and three dragons._

 _We request you to raise banners of peace, and the willingness of your men to disarm upon arrival at Dragonstone. Our men will do you the same courtesy.  
_ _With this raven I also send my greetings to the Lady Sansa, I pray she is doing well.  
I appeal to you, one bastard to another — for all dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes.  
Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen_

 _0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_

 _An invitation to dragonstone? She's already in Westeros?  
They seek an alliance. _Jon breathed out. An alliance _. It's a place to start._

'It's an invitation to the king in the North,' Sansa said.  
'Yes.'  
'Are you…' He heard Sansa swallow audibly. 'Do you plan on going?'  
There was a pause where Jon folded his letter, to gain some time to think about it.

 _It could be dangerous. It could be a trap.  
But then again, they need to let them know.  
The white walkers. The army of the death that will kill them all if they breech the wall. He thought back of Hardhome. The blue eyes of hundreds of people blinking open, as they all stood up. _

_So many losses. So much death._ He could barely think about it.

Whatever it takes, they needed to be ready when they come. He needs to protect their home. He needs to do all he can, even if it would cost his live again.

'Yes…' He sighed. 'I'm afraid I have no choice.'  
Sansa looked up at him. 'Jon… That could be dangerous. Who knows what they would do if you don't kneel if she demands? What if you are going to be held hostage?'  
Sansa shook her head then, her eyes filling up with tears.  
'We can't risk it, Jon! I will not lose you again.'  
'Sansa, what else should I do? Wait until she comes here with her dragons?'  
Sansa paused for a second. Then her eyes widened with an idea.  
'Yes! Then she would see the army for herself and defeat them on her way. Dragonfire would kill them, wouldn't it?'  
Jon's mind flashed back at Ygritte's pyre. He nodded, thinking back of Sam's words. _Only fire will stop them._  
'It would, surely. But do you suppose she would burn them _before_ or _after_ she burns us first for refusing to kneel?' He stared into the fire. 'it's best if we go to her do negotiate an alliance before she can turn her army and dragons against us. Only together we'll have a chance to defeat the Wights and the White Walkers. I _need_ to go.'  
'I can go in your place!' she repeated as she rubbed her eyes. 'Tyrion Lannister would protect me. I'm not valuable enough to be held hostage, anyway. I can broker terms of an alliance, Jon.'  
Jon shook is head.  
' _Never_. You are valuable to _me_ , Sansa. That would be enough for them to take you hostage.  
Sansa smiled at him as she wiped her tears away.  
'I… I… The Tyrells, too. I have contact with them. I know Olenna Tyrell…'  
'There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.' Jon smiled slightly. 'I am not a Stark. _Oof!'_ He brought out as Sansa gave him a light punch in the stomach. He chuckled as he rubbed his chest, the scars still hurting.

 _I will not be fooled again._

'Sansa, you need to stay here and rule the North in my stead. I will let everyone know in the morning. I will also take some of the best men from the Vale and the Karstarks to join me.'  
'Are you going unarmed?' Sansa asked worriedly. 'Think of what they did to you at the wall! You can't walk into another trap like that!'  
'Didn't you just spoke out _your_ trust in Tyrion Lannister?' he asked her teasingly. 'Remember, I have travelled with him for weeks. He wrote these words,' he regarded the last sentence of the letter, 'as a sign of recognition and familiarity.' He hadn't spoken much about his time with the little Lannister-lord, afraid that it would take Sansa's mind back to the abuse she received in King's Landing, by his family and that little shit Joffrey and the Kings Guard.

If Sansa hadn't assured him that Tyrion never touched her, he would do anything to make sure to take vengeance to save Sansa's honour. She had told him of the time he saved her by stopping Meryn Trant from beating her further, and how he was nothing but kind to her throughout their sham of a marriage until their sudden departure.  
Fortunately, his opinion of him remained good-natured because of that.  
Jon put an arm around Sansa's shoulder and pulled her to him for a second.  
'You shouldn't worry about me too much. Daenerys Targaryen and Tyrion Lannister seek an alliance with the North. The _least_ I can do is hear them out.'  
'But the danger…'  
'The _real_ danger is beyond the wall. That is what matters the most. I need to go there, show my good faith towards them, and convince them to go north _before_ taking on Cersei.'  
'And what about me?' Sansa sobbed quietly.  
'Jon, I can't lose you again, not after seeing you for all these years. We've lost _everyone_. You're the only family I have left after mother and Robb… Rickon… And Bran…' Tears spilled over her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. 'Arya…'  
Jon stood and spread out his arms to invite her for a proper hug. 'Come. I will talk to the other lords tomorrow, and the Maester too. Their opinion matters, too. But there is one thing I can promise you, Sansa.'  
Sansa buried her head in his shoulder, sniffing softly. Jon raised his hands to stroke her hair.  
'What is it?' came a muffled sound.  
'I will make it back to you. I promise I will succeed and protect you.' _Even from Tyrion Lannister._  
There was a pause.  
'And what if they betray you?'  
Jon placed both of his hands on her shoulders as he gently shoved her at arm's length.  
'Then I will run as fast as I can outside the walls of Dragonstone…'  
Jon looked at her directly.  
'…And _steal_ one of her dragons to fly back to you.'

Jon smiled as Sansa chuckled through her tears.  
 _Anything to protect us._

 _-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_

 ** _Notes: Thank you for reading. Sorry again for not updating. My 17 year old dog died, and I'm still heartbroken, that's why this chapter is so short. Will follow up soon. Leave a review !_**


	5. Willas II Sansa II

**I own nothing of ASOIAF or Game of Thrones.  
See the end of the chapter for notes.**

 **WILLAS II**

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was surprised his palms weren't bleeding. They should have, considering how hard he buried his nails in his flesh. That, and the crumpled up piece of fabric stuffed in his mouth was all that he could do to prevent himself screaming.

He knew he shouldn't have ridden his horse for so long, but the Rose Road to Oldtown looked so beautiful, the remainder of the summer still visible in the roses still blooming, but the fall was upon them too, a cold breeze that brought fallen leaves, circling the Highgarden carriages.

That pleasant afternoon of riding, barely feeling his leg tight in his braces, costed him a swollen leg that needed to be drained.

It had been months and months since this had to be done. In Highgarden, there wasn't much walking or riding around necessary. But he was feeling melancholy yesterday, and the poet inside him urged him to go outside despite the objections in his mind. And now he had to pay the price.

Maester Lomys looked up at him with pity as he used his flensing-knife to cut his skin. Thankfully he was quick and efficient about it, and it wasn't before too long before he saw the last of the clear liquid leave his leg.

'My lord, forgive me that I have failed to warn you sufficiently not to ride out too long,' Lomys said dryly. 'I will see to it to bind you to your chair and warn you a _million_ times to ensure this will not happen again.'  
Willas rolled his eyes at the man as he spit out his handkerchief in his hand. 'You will do no such thing, Maester. I would not blame you for my own choice to ride.' He clenched his teeth when he felt the last tug on his braces. His leg was wrapped in bandages and ointment and the Maester stood up. 'For that matter, I am glad that I did. The weather was good, the view splendid- I am sure I could conjure up a song before sunset tomorrow.' Willas grinned a bit pained as he took the sleepwine from the maesters hand.  
'I am sure you could, my lord. I would suggest for you to rest to let your leg heal. Tomorrow you will be required to stay in your chair, for your own good.'  
Willas took a sip and looked downwards at his leg. It did not matter, light rain was falling and the clouds in the sky were increasing as the day went on. Tomorrow will not be a day to ride, but to do his work and send ravens before his arrival in Oldtown. The city of knowledge was only two days away, and he had to hurry.  
Lomys bowed to him and left him alone in his room. Willas sighed as he undressed himself, dressing in a tunic for sleep. His dinner would have to wait until morning sadly, the wine stole through his veins and made him drowsy quicker than ever.

It had been two moons since he last used it.

As Willas laid in his bed he thought of the road ahead. Soon he would meet his uncle Baelor Brightsmile from his mother Alerie's side.  
He had tried to convince his mother to join him on his journey to Oldtown to meet her kin after losing so many of her own, but surprisingly she had refused, stating it was better to stay and take care of the household to get her mind off things.

He missed his mother. She was his only parent left. Right before he left he visited her in her chambers. He knocked on the door and opened it to find his mother sitting in the window, looking out over the gardens below and the hills in the distance, her silvery hair longer than ever and braided in the style as before too. She looked like a perfect example of serenity because of the sunset light through the large windows, and his mother looked out doing needlework as if that was all that she had ever done. Willas felt guilty to disturb her with the news that it was his time to leave.

 _'_ _Mother?' Willas asked softly as he came in. His cane clicked on the wooden floor as he walked over to his mother. Her hands stilled as she looked at him, her face devoid of any emotion for half a second, until it lighted up brighter than he had seen.  
'My Willas,' Alerie said. 'Your carriage must be ready.' She placed her needlework next to her and stood, spreading out her arms to gather her son in a tight embrace. Willas felt her smile as he buried his curls in her shoulder. 'Yes, mother,' he croaked and swallowed. His mother looked older than the last time he saw her. He looked up at her and noticed again how her eyes missed the sparkle she had when he was a child, and how skinny she got. 'You can come along, mother. Come with me to Oldtown.' His mother smiled as she stroked his curls.  
'You know I can't, sweetling. Give my brother and Gormon my best. Eat well and write me, too.'  
'Of course, mother. You have to keep me aware of things here, as well. I will write of my whereabouts as often as I can.' He stood then and tapped his fingers on his cane. His mother nodded understandably. 'Thank you, my dearest. But, I will understand if you find other arrangements on the way.' She smiled.  
He knew exactly what she meant by that. He had put a lot of people to work on the ships on the way to Deepwood Motte and even asked his mother for advice. It was as if she knew what he was going to do before he could think of it himself._

 _'_ _I will handle your leave and await your return.' His mother took his face in her hands and pecked the top of his head. 'Present me with a victory and a gooddaughter when you return, will you?'  
Willas could only smile as his tears prickled behind his eyes._

His goodbye to Leonette was an emotional one too, and as he hugged his goodsister he could not help but smile inwardly at the guards walking right by her with a new harp and heavy chests filled with dresses as presents for Sansa Stark. He held Leonette tight as she wept, again marveling at how good-hearted she was.

After bidding his last goodbyes to his men and household he grabbed his cane and took a place in the wheelhouse. Waving politely at his family and the common folk in the town as he left Highgarden. It has been years since the last time but this time it mattered more than ever.

Today could have been the last day he could have to himself. To ride the Rose Road free of pain and responsibilities, lost in thought and poetry.

 _Autum sets and long I roam_

 _As fallen leaves will lead me home_

 _Men ride the road as light succumbs_

 _The heart..._

Willas's eyes closed shut, his train of thought interrupting as his mind drifted to sleep.

 _The heart will guide... When..._

 **SANSA II**

Sansa stared at the letter, forcing her jaw not to drop to the floor. Her thoughts shifted from one thing to another in rapid motions as her disbelief escalated by the seconds.

 _Six ships?_

No- she read further. Seven.

 _Seven ships?_

 _For us?_

 _Laden with…_

 _Oh, gods_.

Not one hour ago she walked along the battlements, looking forward to a late afternoon of riding out with her new horse, given by the same man that interrupted her plans with his letter. It came to her from a messenger riding from Deepwood Motte, a strapping man in around five-and-twenty, red headed and freckled, like her. He stood in her room still, awaiting any questions.

It was only then Sansa reminded herself to look more ladylike. She straightened herself and regarded the messenger from Highgarden with a courteous smile. 'I thank you, good ser. I do hope your troubles on the road were few.'  
The man's cheeks reddened as he rubbed his neck nervously. 'None at all, mylady… Forgive me, Your grace, is was I meant.' He averted his eyes to look at the tapestry behind her instead.  
'Do not apologize, please. All is well.'  
'If it please you, your Grace.' He smiled politely, cheeks reddened. 'The road to Winterfell had been better than expected, thankfully… I was well guarded, the weather was good.'  
Sansa nodded. 'Good. How many days are the rest behind?'  
'But two, mylady. They ride swiftly and carefully, I'm sure.'  
'The Lord of Highgarden speaks of ships. What do you know of this?' The mans eyes lit up. 'Yes mylady. They are grand, in good state, and awaiting you at any time you need. Each ship has its own captain, that will travel with us as we return to Deepwood Motte. If It please you, I could arrange for a litter to bring your Grace there, if you wish to see them.'  
Sansa felt a warm, long forgotten wave of giddiness as she looked at his expression. He seemed impressed by the mere image of Lord Willas's "tokens" of good faith.  
She was not as naive as she used to, however. There was more behind it, but what she had no idea. Nevertheless, she would have to think of a good way of thanking him through a letter.  
'That will not be possible, ser. My duty for the time being is to remain here.' She smiled graciously at the man. 'However, your generosity will not go unnoticed. There Is food available in the kitchens, and I will send a handmaiden to prepare your room and draw you a bath. She will send you there if all is done.' The man thanked her profusely, even stepping forward to kiss her hand. Sansa pulled back gently just in time and curtsied instead. The messenger bowed and left the room as Sansa bid him goodbye.

When she heard the door close she sank back in her chair and sighed. Never in her dreams had she expected such a gesture of Willas Tyrell. Armour, provisions, ships, fabrics… She was never really good at working with numbers, but she supposed seven ships could provide a small town for weeks, at least.  
And this was only the result of the first letter she sent. Either she had made a favourable first impression, or Willas was planning something.

The jade rose broche he had gifted her laid forgotten on the table. She had not taken the time to look at it. The broche was small, but pretty, Not very expensive, but lovely all the same. An answer to her blue rose, one she sent with an innocent thought. Mayhaps it pleased him more than she had imagined. Sansa hoped however, that the lord of Highgarden was not one to fall for the first maiden to grace him with attention. A man like that would be easily swayed into doing things, and therefor make for a questionable ally.

And becoming allies is all he wanted with her.  
 _Right?_

In any case, they have seven ships. And one for her. A slight smile formed around her lips, she tried to force it back, but she could not. She was a bit taken aback, but it was giddiness that she felt. It was her, it was little Sansa Stark, the one she was years ago. She was presented with thoughtful gifts from a man- not just any man, but the Lord of Highgarden.  
It was what she prayed would happen when she was a child and when she believed to soon be married to Willas, as she imagined him as courteous and kind as he seemed in his letters. How hopeful and naïve she was.

She had to keep her wits about her though, at all times. She was queen in the North. She had more than what he offered her now. But he must have been planning something, of that she was sure.

Sansa absent-mindedly rolled up the parchment and hid it behind the tapestry. She tried to calm her mind as she prepared to walk the halls, to try again to ride out. Maybe some crisp air would clear her mind.

She hardly passed anyone on her way to the stables, aside from her handmaiden who she let take care of the Messenger from Highgarden, as well as Brienne, reporting back from welcoming the men guarding the messenger on the road here.

Sansa stopped in her tracks as she walked out to the yard and looked up at the sky. It was sunnier than she had seen in weeks, a pale sun barely managing through grey clouds in the sky. It was light out, and but a thin layer of snow on the ground

 _Light before the darkness._

Sansa left the gates of Winterfell at a leasure pace, sitting on top her horse. It was a snowy white one, the manes braided and in good shape. It well-trained and strong too, as it followed her every move as if it knew it before Sansa did. The white horse contrasted beautifully with her surroundings and the greens and dark blue of her skirts. Her guards followed not far behind, armed and stern-faced, not taking their eyes of the surrounding as well, but probably not enjoying it in the way she did.

Ever since she returned to Winterfell, alongside Jon and Brienne and Petyr Baelish, she had felt the need to embrace her home as she never did before. Overseeing the reparations, taking care of the household and most of all avenging her family was all she could do to make up for her sins. Never would she take her home for granted again. So she permitted herself one hour a day, to refresh her memories, to think back of all that she lost the day she left her home… trying with all her might to regain some of her youth back. Playing, singing, dancing..

 _Dreaming._

Roaming her home reminded her time and time again of how far dreaming had got her. It was her duty now to think rationally, wisely, and carefully. Jon was not here to help her now.

A week after he received the invitation to Dragonstone, he had made up his mind about leaving. The reasons to go were adding up. As much as she did not want him to go, he had made up his mind. Was it not for an alliance, then for the dragonglass hidden underneath Dragonstone. If forged into weapons…

A cold wind blew through the trees chilled her exposed neck. Sansa clasped her cloak tighter around herself. Preparing for any attack of the White Walkers and the Wights was of the utmost importance.

Jon's eyes were teary as he embraced her in his goodbye. He kept mumbling supporting and assuring words, promising victory and vowing to be careful at all times. Sansa could not sleep for days since that night, worrying for Jon and fearing the worst. Seeing his entourage leave through the gates of Winterfell she vowed before the Gods to do what she could to protect their home.

At times like these she wished he was here. To help her and advise her. Aside from Harry she knew not how to read a man. It was still difficult with Petyr Baelish, whom she called father for months- It was difficult with Tyrion, Jof- She internally shook her head. She could not even imagine how it would be if she did have to marry Ramsay Bolton… And Harrold Hardyng… Witty he was not, which made directioning him all the easier. She had to pretend to be daft however and was _promised_ to him, and this was the complete opposite.

She wished she had her friends from the Vale to guide her with this. Myranda would shake her shoulders to let her spill her feelings, probably telling her all that she thought it meant, whereas Mya Stone would roll her eyes and say something disheartening and logical in an even tone.

Sansa reminded herself to write her a letter soon. As she rode the way to Winter Town, she already started to form the letter in her head. It has been weeks since her last letter to the Lady Myranda, and she had not written back since.

Something wet on her hand pulled her from her thoughts. A guard stopped his horse next to her. 'Your Grace, we should return. The rains are falling.'

Sansa sighed and tapped her foot and her horse turned around. Maybe today was just not her day to ride out. 'We will return,' she answered as she kicked her horse into gallop. 'I shall ride ahead!' she announced heartily, as she raced back home, smirking at her follies.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 ** _My dearest Sansa,_**

 _I pray to all the gods you and King Jon are well. Please bear the thought that I miss you, as a friend and as someone I consider a sister._

 _It is why I entrust you with this secret, as you have intrusted me with yours back then._

 _My father wants me to marry your Lord husband Tyrion Lannister. The dragon queen will take over the throne as soon as Jon sets an alliance. Your marriage to Tyrion shall be annulled, of that I am sure._

 _My lord father wishes me to rule alongside my husband, serving as hand of the Queen, thereby having more authority and influence than you or Jon._

 _Sweetling, you know I do not wish any of this. My ambitions are not in power, nor a place in King's Landing, nor a husband as he. In ways my father wishes me the same fate that you had in the past.  
I beg of you to save me from this.  
I have tried to talk to my father for days, any moment I could talk to him. Lord Nestor is adamant in his choice.  
I am ashamed as I write here, at night in my chambers, Mya sleeping on the bed and my only light a stump of candle as I put faith in your love for me in times like these, but I am desperate. _

_Send a raven, a command, another match, anything to stop this from happening._

 _Do me this kindness, sweetling, and I shall be forever in your debt._

 _With all my heart and well-wishes,_

 _Myranda Royce._

 ** _Post Scriptum:_**

 _Please burn this letter as soon as you receive it. I have taken precautions to not let this letter be read by others, this time._

 _0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_

 **Notes:**

 **Thank you all so much for your follows and kind reviews! I had a bad case of SAD, but I'm starting to feel better. Got lots of ideas, but work is catching up to me faster than I can run from it (bit out of shape) so please bear with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter even though it's a bit short...**

 **Would love reviews, as always.**

 **P.S. As you might have guessed by the many grammar mistakes- English is not my mother tongue (I'm from the Netherlands). So if anyone would like to be a betareader (and also doesn't mind telling me what** ** _exactly_** **that entails) send me a PM!**


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